


The Legend of Daniel Jackson

by galaxysoup



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Foster Care, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-17
Updated: 2003-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22532959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxysoup/pseuds/galaxysoup
Summary: An AU look at the year 1974. What if Jack and Daniel were neighbors?
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	The Legend of Daniel Jackson

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally posted to [The Comfort Zone](http://www.sg1hc.com/main.shtml) fanfic archive. This was originally posted in December of 2003, but I'm having trouble getting it to backdate appropriately on AO3.)
> 
> This story has taken longer to write than any story I've ever written - even my English assignments! Thanks to Lorien for giving me a home at the Grove, to my listsibs Tricia and Barb for the idea and the encouragement (read: harassment ;-), to Angelheart for making sure Jack had the right credentials (which I then exercised poetic license all over - it's not her fault!), and to MK and LimeKid, as always, for listening. To Wallis Budge for the translation of the Book of the Dead which Daniel recites (yeah, yeah, sacrilege, I know). Oh, and you may have noticed that I have ignored the existence of the Vietnam War. This was entirely intentional. It didn't fit with my story, therefore it did not happen. So there. (Well, it's an AU, isn't it?).

The first time Jack saw Daniel he almost didn't. He was carrying a box up the stairs, into the new apartment, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a small boy watching him through the banister. He got a brief impression of blond hair and a red jacket and then he went into his still-bare apartment, deposited the box in the kitchen, and went down for another, dodging Sara in the hallway. He hardly noticed that the boy had vanished. 

And that was it. Ten seconds. Maybe less. Later, when he'd gotten to know Daniel, he would wish that he'd taken the time to say hi, or smile, or invite the boy in. But for now, he just gave himself a small smile because he liked kids and he was glad that there were some in the building. At family gatherings he was always the one the kids gravitated towards, always the token grown-up invited to share in their games. He was good with kids. He wanted some of his own, someday, when his marriage was a little older and he was a little wiser and more than a First Lieutenant fresh out of training. 

He went out to the car and grabbed another box, heading up the stairs again. By the time he'd come down for a third load, he'd completely forgotten that a boy had ever crouched on the landing and stared at him through the banister. 

* * *

From the metal mesh fire escape outside the apartment next to Jack and Sara's, Daniel watched the young couple move in. He watched and said nothing, one hand playing absently with the zipper of his light jacket. The jacket was red, garishly so, and he hated it. His last foster mother had given it to him with a nervous smile, perhaps hoping the jacket would speak for him, that maybe the bright color would make up in sight what he lacked in sound. He had taken it from her outstretched hand, keeping his head down so his bangs fell forward across the frames of his glasses, and he'd put the jacket on because he didn't know how to say he didn't want it. He had wondered, later that night, sitting in his bed leaning against the windowsill, if he could have just come out and said "No, thank you." He wondered if people in America refused presents, or if all their homes were piled high with trinkets and tokens like the bazaars outside of Cairo where he'd gone shopping with his mother. He had a sudden mental image of all the doors of all the houses along the street being thrown open so everyone could see the stacks of things inside, imagined all the people who hid in their houses by day sitting on the front steps in a long row, shouting out to passers-by to come in and take a look, three-for-a-dollar, better than anywhere else. He closed his eyes and pushed the image towards the front of his head, against his skull, like if he could push hard enough it would pop out and unfold into the world. 

He opened his eyes. The street was cold, and bare, and empty besides the woman with blond hair getting a box out of the green car at the curb. There were no wares, no bazaars. It was quiet and sedate. 

Daniel closed his eyes again and wished for home. 

* * *

"You know, you never realize how much junk you have until you try to move it all," Jack grumbled as he shoved his way through the stack of boxes barricading the bedroom closet. 

Sara grimaced in agreement and neatly sliced open a box with an ancient switchblade she'd inherited from her grandfather. "I know. And have you ever noticed that it takes at least three times as long to unpack as it did to pack?" 

"Yeah," Jack huffed, prying open the closet door. He eyed the small space dubiously. "We did bring hangers, didn't we?" 

Sara thought for a moment. "Try the small box with 'closet' on it in big green letters. I think that's where the hangers are. Either that or the big box with 'miscellaneous' written in red." 

Jack clambered laboriously over the displaced stack of boxes to the indicated containers. "Knife?" 

Sara folded the switchblade and tossed it. Jack caught it neatly, grinning. "You know, it wasn't your personality or your looks that made me propose. As soon as I found out you were good with a switchblade I knew you were the girl for me." 

Sara stuck her tongue out at him. "Don't even try that tough act with me, Jack O'Neill. You may tell your Air Force buddies you're from Chicago but you'll always be a small-town boy from Minnesota to me." 

Jack shook his head sadly. "You hear that?" He complained to the hangers. "Brains. Should have gone for a dumb girl with a hairbrush instead of a smart one with a sharp object fixation." 

Sara kissed him on the cheek and took back the knife. "That's okay, Jack. I always knew you married me for my knife collection." 

Jack commenced the long haul across the mighty Box Range to the closet. "That's the box marked 'Sharp - Don't Even Think of Touching This, Jack!', is it?" 

Sara smiled sweetly. "No. It's the one marked 'Girl Stuff'." 

* * *

"Daniel? It's time for dinner, sweetheart. Come inside." 

Daniel unfolded himself reluctantly from the fire escape and climbed back into the apartment through the window. Mrs. Weaver was standing near the stove with a soup can in one gnarled hand. She smiled brightly at him as he padded silently over to stand next to her. 

"I ate earlier so I'm just going to heat you up some soup, okay? Gabriel and Heather are getting married in a few minutes and I don't want to miss it." She fumbled at the drawer holding the can opener, her stiff, swollen fingers closing awkwardly around the handle. Daniel watched uncomfortably as she struggled to open the drawer, finally extracting the can opener. Her smile slipped as she looked down at the device, its small, hard metal bits winking maliciously up at her in the dim kitchen light. 

Daniel reached over and picked up the can opener, gently taking the soup can from her permanently bent fingers, and her smile firmed a little. 

"Thank you, dear. You know how to use the stove, don't you? I'll be in the living room if you need anything." Daniel nodded and watched her leave. She wasn't that old - older than mom, but not as old as Nick. Maybe fifty or so. It was sad that her hands didn't really work for her anymore. He couldn't imagine his mother not being able to use her hands. Mom had had nice hands, strong and slender and pleasantly rough from work. Functional hands. 

Daniel swallowed and turned resolutely towards the soup can. He put it on the floor where he could reach it easily and fitted the can opener to the side of the can. He tried to close it, but his fingers weren't strong enough to make it puncture the aluminum. He didn't have strong hands like Mom. Maybe later, when he was older. He glanced over into the living room. Mrs. Weaver was seated in her armchair in front of the television. There was a church on the screen, all done up with white lace, and a few plasticly perfect people looking angsty and tormented in their wedding finery. He turned back to the counter. Mrs. Weaver was busy. She didn't need him bothering her. 

He put away the can opener and the soup and dug through the cupboards until he found a package of crackers and an apple. He poured himself a glass of milk and took his dinner back out to the fire escape. 

Mrs. Weaver was a nice lady. Asking for soup would only make her sad. He was okay with crackers and apples. 

* * *

"We got any dessert?" 

Sara stacked their clean dinner plates in the cupboard and shook her head. "No. There wasn't anything left over at the restaurant this morning. You could make yourself some hot chocolate, though. Satisfy your sweet tooth." 

Jack leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Nah, that's okay. I was just curious. Tell Dottie I'm in love with her pie and she has to make more so I can eat the leftovers." 

Sara snorted and picked up Jack's wet dishcloth, hanging it on a hook above the sink to dry. "I think she knows." 

"Perceptive woman. I'm going to go out and enjoy the view from the fire escape. Want to come?" 

Sara blew him a kiss. "Maybe later. Right now I'm going to take a nice, hot bath. Go have fun with your stars." 

Jack grinned and pushed up the window, letting in the night air. It was a cool, clear night of the kind only found in the autumn. If it weren't for the city lights that drowned out all but the brightest stars it would have been an ideal night for stargazing. 

He leaned against the cold metal railing and stared up into the sky. He loved stargazing, loved the feeling of infinite space weighing down on him until he felt like the tiniest speck of stardust in the universe. Somehow none of his worries seemed to have any power after he'd been staring at the sky for a little while. 

It had been better in Minnesota, of course - but then, nearly everything was, and in the city at least he could still pick out the brightest stars well enough to get a fix on the constellations. Orion was rising to the East; in about an hour he'd be high enough in the sky for the twins, Castor and Pollux, to be visible as well. The great square of Pegasus was directly overhead, which meant that Aquarius and Capricornus were probably hidden by the bulk of the apartment building behind him. The north star, Polaris, was directly in front of him, dim in the city lights but still visible. He tracked the great wash of the Milky Way across the sky, sweeping straight through Cassiopeia and Cygnus to disappear in the western horizon. 

Jack gave a contented sigh which turned into a sharp intake of surprise as a figure moved in his peripheral vision near the next window over. He squinted in the dim light, finally picking out the glint of streetlight on fair hair and glasses. There was a small boy sitting on the fire escape with his back against the wall of the apartment building and his knees pulled up to his chest. Jack smiled. 

"Whoa, you startled me! I didn't see you there." There was a pause. The boy said nothing. Jack tried again. "We just moved in next door. My name's Jack, what's yours?" 

The boy stared at him, wide-eyed, still silent. Shy, then. Jack made his voice softer. 

"I just came out to look at the stars. Do you like to look at the stars?" 

The boy's eyes flicked up to the sky and then darted back to rest on Jack's face. Jack waited for a long moment, but there was no other reaction from his silent companion. Moving slowly, he sat down on the metal grid of the balcony floor, mimicking the boy's position. The boy's eyes followed his every move, but he didn't seem afraid. Wary, maybe uncertain, but not afraid. 

"I'm not from the city originally. I spent most of my time growing up in Minnesota. The stars were a lot brighter there, without all the city lights. Have you lived here your whole life?" 

There was a long pause, then slowly the boy shook his head. He seemed transfixed. 

"Well, you know what I mean, then. For instance, you can barely see it, but up there right below Pegasus - that's the big square sort of shape, you can still see it pretty well - there's the constellation Pisces. From the Zodiac, you know? I think it's supposed to be fish or something, but it's always just looked like a crooked line to me. Anyway - in Minnesota, at the cabin, you're so far away from everything that you can see more stars than you ever thought possible. It's great. Makes you feel kind of small, you know?" 

The boy blinked at him - usually not a very good sign in a conversation, Jack reflected, but this time he got the feeling that the boy did know what he was talking about, and agreed with him. 

A woman's voice called from the apartment by the boy. He turned, unhurried, to look in the window by his shoulder, then glanced back at Jack. He held Jack's gaze for several moments, then turned and climbed through the window into the apartment. 

Jack sat back, a little unnerved. This boy didn't act like the kids he was used to. That last look had seemed... old, somehow. Ancient even. 

Jack snorted and shook his head at his overactive imagination, settling back to watch the stars. That was ridiculous. A ten-year-old was a ten-year-old, in the city or in the country. 

* * *

Later that night, Daniel sat up in bed and leaned against his bedroom window, the glass cold against his forehead. The man from next door was right, he thought. The stars were a lot easier to see outside the city. In Egypt, on some of his parents' digs, it had seemed to him that the sky was so full of stars it would get too heavy and fall to the earth. He hadn't been able to decide, then, whether that would be a good thing or a bad thing. 

Daniel stared up at the stars, and felt small. 

* * *

Daniel hated recess. During class he sat in the back of the room, watching the kids get more and more worked up the closer it got to the magic hour, and tried to figure out ways to stay inside. He'd tried hiding in the bathroom once, but Mrs. Kirkbright somehow figured out where he was and sent Tommy Simpson in to get him. Tommy Simpson was one of the kids who got most excited about going outside to play, so he'd been a little less than pleased with Daniel for delaying his fun. 

Personally, Daniel didn't see anything fun about recess. While Tommy might enjoy playing things like Tackle Tag and Jungle Gym Race, Daniel found that being the one tackled generally took a lot of the enjoyment out of the game. And he really didn't like heights. The fire escape didn't count. On the fire escape he looked up, not down. 

The bell rang and the class exploded into action. Everyone grabbed jackets and stampeded out of the classroom towards the playground, Mrs. Kirkbright yelling ineffectively at everyone to /walk/, not run! Daniel got up after everyone else and made his way to his jacket as slowly as possible. He took his time putting it on, zipping it up one tooth at a time so he could count them as he went. He chose a different language to count in every day. Sometimes he switched languages with each tooth, just to see if he could keep them all straight. 

Mrs. Kirkbright bustled back into the room, batted his hands away from the zipper pull, and zipped up his coat herself. She propelled him out the door and closed it behind him with sharp finality. It hadn't taken Mrs. Kirkbright long to figure out that Daniel would do just about anything to avoid going outside for recess, and she seemed to take a sort of perverse enjoyment in getting him outside as fast as possible. Daniel hadn't figured out yet how to fix whatever he was doing that made her dislike him so much. 

He kept his head down as he crossed the playground, making for a sheltering stand of bushes by the back fence. It was hard to push through the branches to the small space inside, and was a little rough on his clothes, but once he was in there no one really bothered him. The problem was getting to the bushes before anyone noticed what he was doing. Some days he made it, some days he didn't. 

Today, it seemed, was going to be one of Those Days. Tommy and his friend Spencer caught him before he'd gotten more than ten feet from the school building. 

"Hi Daniel!" Tommy said, cheerfully slinging an arm around Daniel's shoulders. 

Daniel had figured this one out pretty fast. The whole friendly gesture thing wasn't actually friendly. It was a way for Tommy to get within striking range - usually of Daniel's stomach - and shield his actions from the recess monitors at the same time; not, of course, that the recess monitors ever seemed to actually do anything but stand there and watch. 

Tommy's fingers dug into Daniel's shoulder, and Daniel had to concentrate hard to keep from wincing at the bruising pressure. Tommy would just find that encouraging. His hands were definitely strong enough to use a can opener. 

"So, Daniel, me and Spencer were talking, and we came up with a really cool idea. Want to hear it?" Daniel made no reply, but Tommy seemed to find Daniel's silence a tacit acceptance of his fate, and kept on talking. "Me and Spencer were thinking it would be really cool to play a game of Sneaker Fetch. What do you think?" 

Daniel didn't really care what Tommy and Spencer thought would be cool, because he had a very strong feeling that whatever Tommy and Spencer thought was cool he would think was humiliating and painful. He kept his mouth shut. 

"I think he wants to play too, Tommy. After all, he isn't saying anything else, is he?" 

Tommy and Spencer had figured out early on that Daniel didn't speak, and had made it their mission in life to find some way to make him talk. Or, preferably, scream and cry. Daniel, occasionally too stubborn for his own good, had dug in his mental heels and refused to budge. 

Tommy nodded judiciously. "Yeah, I'd say Daniel definitely wants to play!" 

The friendly arm around his shoulders pulled back sharply and Daniel, caught by surprise and aided by Spencer's quick kick to the back of his leg, lost his balance and fell hard. The breath left his body in one great whoosh and he was so focused on trying to breathe it took him a moment to realize that Spencer was untying his shoelaces. He kicked and heard Spencer yelp, and then Tommy threw himself down across Daniel's legs. Daniel sat up and tried to hit Tommy with his fists, but Tommy launched himself upwards and knocked Daniel flat again. His glasses went flying and he spared a moment to hope they would survive recess unscathed. 

With a wrench, Spencer pulled Daniel's sneakers free of his feet. "Got 'em, Tommy!" 

Tommy started to get up, but Daniel grabbed his jacket and pulled hard, snarling. He was angry now, the kind of angry Dad used to get when an artifact got broken by mistake. They were really careful, but accidents still happened sometimes. Daniel had inherited Dad's temper, the kind that only went every once in a while, but made up for its infrequence with spectacular fireworks. 

Tommy fell back, twisting as he went to land on Daniel's torso. Daniel gasped with pain and instinctively curled up, letting go of the jacket in the process. Tommy's weight vanished immediately. Daniel heard them laughing as they raced across the playground with his shoes. 

It took Daniel the rest of recess to locate the sneakers, which were tied together and looped over the highest rung on the jungle gym. By the time he'd made it back down with them, sweaty and shaking, the rest of the class had disappeared back inside, and Mrs. Kirkbright was glaring at him from the doorway. He pulled the sneakers back on, gave his dirty pants a quick dusting, and headed back inside. 

* * *

It was a few days before Jack saw the boy again. From time to time when he was outside the apartment building or walking down the hall he'd gotten the feeling that he was being watched, but whenever he turned around, it was to be confronted with a space devoid of people and certainly of small boys with fair hair and glasses. 

He mentioned this to Sara, who smiled and shrugged and teased him relentlessly. 

"I saw your boy today," she told him finally. 

Jack perked up. "Really? Where?" 

"On the fire escape. I see him there from time to time when I come back from work. Blond, red jacket, right?" 

"Yeah, that's him." 

Sara nodded. "I think he spends a lot of time up there on the fire escape, just watching people. I've never seen him anywhere else." 

"Huh." Jack frowned into his coffee cup. "What do you know about the people next door?" 

Sara shrugged. "I've never met them, but their mailbox says 'Weaver'." 

Jack smacked himself on the forehead. "Mailbox. Of course." 

Sara smirked at him. "What, they don't teach you that in spy school?" 

Jack stuck his tongue out at her. "I'll go back out on the fire escape tonight if it's clear. Maybe he'll be there." 

Sara nodded. "I'd like to meet him sometime, if he loosens up enough to talk to you. He seems interesting." 

"Well, he's certainly caught my interest." 

Sara smiled. "That's what I mean." 

* * *

The next-door man came home around five. Daniel liked to watch him come home because he always seemed to be in a good mood. He wore a uniform of some sort, with a shiny silver bar on each shoulder. Daniel loved the way they glinted in the afternoon light. 

He had a wife, the same blonde lady Daniel had seen taking things out of the car the day they'd moved in. She came in and out at strange hours, wearing a pink-and-white dress with wide stripes and a nametag. Daniel wasn't sure what she did yet. 

Sometimes he saw the two of them kiss in the hallway, secret quick kisses that made them both smile. And sometimes from the fire escape he saw the two of them come and go linked arm-in-arm in a casual way that showed they were really comfortable with each other. Daniel's own parents hadn't walked that way. They had been very much in love, but their love was more about looks and words. He felt a sharp pang deep inside right below his ribcage at the top of his stomach when he remembered the way his dad had grabbed his mom around the waist and danced the night they uncovered the tomb in Greece. Daniel had laughed with them and clapped his hands, loving the way everyone whooped and cheered in the firelight. He closed his eyes and remembered. 

* * *

Jack stepped out onto the fire escape and leaned against the railing, gazing up at the stars. He deliberately avoided looking towards the neighboring window, instead taking the time to chart out the constellations again. The Gemini were fully visible now in the east, and Hercules was disappearing in the west. Slowly, he turned and looked across the fire escape. The boy gazed back at him with wide, unblinking eyes. 

"Hey," Jack smiled, and sat down carefully with his back against the wall. "Remember me? I'm Jack. We met a couple days ago." 

The boy stared back, one finger playing restlessly with the zipper of his jacket. Jack looked back at the sky. 

"It's another good night for stargazing. Sara, that's my wife, she likes stargazing too, but she doesn't come out as much. Before we moved here we lived near a big field and we'd take a blanket out and lie on it and just watch the stars go by. It was great. There were so many stars you almost wondered if the sky was solid." He glanced over at the boy. The kid's eyes were closed, and there was a tiny smile on his face. "When I was little I used to wonder if the sky would get too heavy for all the stars to stay in place. I used to imagine what would happen if they all fell to the ground. You ever do that?" The boy turned quickly to look him full in the face, a wide smile breaking out. Jack grinned. "You too, huh?" The boy glanced down, embarrassed, then back up, smile still in place. Jack was starting to wonder if the kid couldn't speak. Maybe what Jack had taken for shyness was really just an inability to communicate. The thought made him feel sad, and he turned towards the sky again before the boy could pick up on his mood. 

"You know, they have all sorts of stories that explain the different constellations. I don't really know any of them, but it's a neat idea, isn't it? Just sort of sit back and stare at the sky, and when you think you see a shape, give it a name and a reason for being there. Like... that W shape up there. It's supposed to be Cassiopeia, whatever that is, but maybe it's, uh... I know! Maybe it's two pyramids that the gods turned upside-down because the guy who built them was evil and that was his punishment, he had to live in an upside-down house for the rest of eternity. And that line of stars right below, that's the road that used to lead to his front door before he got turned around. What do you think? Do I have a future as a constellation artist?" 

The boy gave him another smile, but it was a small one this time, so loaded with sadness it almost broke Jack's heart. The boy looked back up at the sky and scooted down until he was lying flat on his back with his arms folded across his stomach, staring straight up at Jack's constellation. After a moment Jack copied him, his knees bent up so he could fit, and they lay in silence. 

Jack heard a rustle and turned his head to find the boy looking at him again. 

"I'm Daniel," he said in a whisper, and swallowed hard, looking scared. 

Jack nodded gravely. "Nice to meet you, Daniel," he said solemnly, and turned back to the stars. When he sneaked a look at the boy a moment later he was smiling again, and there was no trace of sadness. 

* * *

"His name is Daniel," Jack said with an air of deep satisfaction. 

Sara looked up from the book she was reading. "He actually told you?" 

"Yep," Jack flopped down on the bed next to her. She put down the book and turned to face him. 

"Well, go on then. Tell me what happened." 

He smiled mischievously at her impatience but decided not to tease. "That was pretty much it, actually. I told him a little about the cabin in Minnesota and he seemed to like that, so I started talking about how the constellations all have stories behind them. And he just turned to me and said 'I'm Daniel'." 

"That was it?" 

"That was it." 

"He didn't say anything else?" Sara leaned forward and hooked her arms around her knees, frowning pensively. 

"No. We sat out there for a while just watching the stars, and then he got called in to bed. Never said another word." 

"Huh." Sara chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Interesting. I'd like to meet him sometime. Do you think he'd be okay with that?" 

Jack shrugged. "We might have to work up to it. He's really shy. Damn near had a heart attack just telling me his name." 

Sara nodded decisively. "I'll send some pie or something with you next time. All kids like pie." 

"I like pie." 

"I rest my case." 

* * *

Daniel carefully put his school workbook in his backpack, nestled in between his father's copy of 'The Book of the Dead' and the envelope containing his lunch money. He waved goodbye to Mrs. Weaver, who returned it absently, and trotted down the stairs and out into the sun. 

He made his usual turn towards school, kept going for a block, and then detoured. He walked to the subway station and slipped past the guards in their kiosks without paying for a subway ticket. He could use his lunch money if necessary, but preferred not to. 

Today, he decided, he'd go to the Natural History Museum. It was his favorite. 

He made his way to the museum and loitered outside until a school group came past, tagging along at the back of the group until they had all gotten past the front desk into the museum. It was ridiculously easy. The museum workers apparently just didn't expect kids his age to try to sneak into museums on their own. 

Daniel headed for the Hall of South American Peoples. He always wondered if he'd find something with Nick's name on it. He knew Nick's crystal skull wouldn't be there - and hadn't Mom had a lot to say about /that/! - but Nick had been working in South America for years before finding the skull when Daniel was six, so it was theoretically possible to come across something attributed to his absentee grandfather. 

Daniel loved museums. He loved the things they had to show, the majestic stone buildings they were housed in, and the way everyone got quiet with a sort of hushed awe as they looked at the exhibits. He wished he could wrap himself up in that sense of the past, lose himself completely in the knowledge there for the taking. His brain felt like a sponge, soaking up history with starved zeal. He had to be careful to watch the time and not get too intrigued, though. He'd gotten back a little late last week and although Mrs. Weaver hadn't really noticed, she might someday and be worried. 

Museums were his reward. Every so often he would skip out on school and head into the city, fortifying himself for the coming week with a day-long immersion in the past. He wished more than anything he could go back to the way things had been in Egypt, but was realistic enough to know how impossible that was. 

Things had changed. Not for the better, but there was precious little he could do about it. Daniel climbed the stately marble steps to the third floor, and tried to ignore the way the Museum of Art throbbed like a toothache in his mental map of the city. 

Someday. 

But not yet. 

* * *

"Hi, hon," Jack greeted Sara as she stepped through the front door, helping her shrug out of her coat. In one hand she had a covered pie tin. "What kind?" 

Sara grinned. "Strawberry rhubarb. And Dottie sent a slice for you too, so you can stop drooling." 

Jack beamed at her. "I love Dottie." He turned into the kitchen, carrying the pie. "Did you eat?" 

"Yeah." Sara opened the refrigerator and got out a bottle of Coca-Cola. "Slow night, so I ate between customers." She frowned suddenly. "What's that smell?" 

Jack froze. "Um, nothing," he mumbled around a mouthful of pie. 

Sara gave him an alarmed look. "You didn't try to /cook/ something, did you?" 

"No!" Jack said unconvincingly. 

Sara straightened into a fair approximation of a parade-ground stance, just off enough to give it an ironic twist. "Report, soldier! How many casualties?" 

Jack rolled his eyes. "Oh, for crying out loud - nothing but the food. All the pots are fine. If in need of a little, uh, steel wool," he added in a much more subdued manner. 

Sara laughed despite herself. "Okay," she said, relaxing her stance. She waved one hand at the pie. "You go reconnoiter. I'll prepare to engage the enemy." 

Jack leered at her. "I'll watch your six," he offered generously. 

"I bet you will," Sara said, leering right back, and began to search under the sink for the steel wool. 

Jack set the pie tin down on the windowsill for later and climbed through to the fire escape. 

"Hi Daniel." 

The boy gave Jack a tentative wave, more of an opening and closing of his hand than an actual salutation. 

"Stars good tonight?" 

He nodded. Jack flopped down next to him and gave him a conspiratorial look. 

"Want to hear something cool?" 

Daniel nodded again, smiling a bit. Jack paused just long enough to see if he would get up the courage to say something aloud, then continued. "See that rectangle of stars up there, right above the building?" He sat himself down next to Daniel and pointed upwards. "If you go the same distance above the top star on the left as it is from the bottom star on the left, there's a small smudge of light. You can't see it in the city, of course... but that's a whole other galaxy. The Andromeda galaxy." 

Daniel rose to his knees and twisted around to stare hard at the sky, one hand looped around the fire escape railing to steady himself. He turned back to grin at Jack, delighted with the knowledge even though he couldn't see the galaxy. He settled himself back down on the fire escape and they sat for a moment in silence, staring up at the sky. 

"Can... can I have a favor?" Daniel's voice was barely above a whisper. 

"Sure," Jack said easily. "What do you need?" 

Daniel groped in the shadows below his apartment window for a moment, turning to Jack with a can of generic tomato soup and a battered can opener. He held them out, not meeting Jack's eyes. Even in the dim glow of the streetlight, Jack could see that his face was flaming red. 

"You want me to open it?" 

Daniel gave him an apologetic wince of a smile. Jack's eyes narrowed. "Is this your dinner?" Daniel nodded. "Okay, that's just pathetic," Jack said with all the superiority of a man raised on home cooking. He put down the can and beckoned to Daniel, who was giving him a confused look. "Come with me," he said firmly. "I'll make - well, okay, I'll get /Sara/ to make you some dinner." 

Daniel drew back a little, obviously unsure. Jack smiled reassuringly. "It's okay, it's no problem. Actually, I want something to eat myself - I burned my dinner and no matter what anybody says, carbon is /not/ good for you." 

Daniel smiled a little. His own mother had been a terrible cook, and his father hadn't been much better. He was used to carbon. 

Jack raised the window and started to climb through, pausing long enough to snag a pie tin from the windowsill. "Strawberry rhubarb," he confided in a whisper. "Sara brought it home for you." Wide-eyed, Daniel hesitated a moment, crouched uncomfortably on the windowsill, and then abruptly climbed through the window behind Jack to stand uncertainly with his back pressed against the hard wooden ridge. Jack placed the pie tin gently in Daniel's hands and put a finger to his lips, pointing in the direction of what Daniel guessed was the kitchen if this apartment was anything like Mrs. Weaver's. He could hear dishes rattling in a sink, and a woman muttering under her breath. 

Jack flattened himself against the wall and tiptoed around the corner towards a blonde woman standing at the sink with her back to them. He grinned over his shoulder at Daniel, inviting him to share in the fun, and Daniel smiled tentatively back, clutching the pie tin protectively to his chest. 

Suddenly Jack pounced on the woman from behind, tickling her ribs. She shrieked and jumped, soapy water flying everywhere. Daniel jumped too, nearly crushing the frail pie tin in his surprise. 

"Jack O'Neill!" The woman yelled. "You...you...!" 

Daniel tucked himself back against the wall. The lady looked really mad. He spared a glance at Jack, who was grinning unrepentantly. The lady gave Jack a hefty thwack on the shoulder and scooped up a handful of soapsuds from the tub in the sink. 

"Whoa!" Jack yelled. "No! Wait! Sara!" 

The soapsuds splattered across Jack's chest. 

"Gotta move faster than that, flyboy!" The woman laughed. 

"All right, that's it!" Jack mock-growled. "This is /war/!" He grabbed the woman's wrist with one hand and a small pile of soapsuds with the other, trying to rub them into her hair. She squealed and ducked away, fumbling in the sink with her free hand. Just as Jack's soapsud missile found its mark, she came up with the sink sprayer and got Jack full in the face. 

Jack made a spluttery squawking noise and slipped, falling behind the kitchen table. Daniel ducked down and peered at him through the table legs. Jack was laughing so hard he wasn't making any noise, and as Daniel watched, Sara slid down against the counter laughing too. 

Jack caught his eye, and he looked so funny covered in soapsuds with his hair sticking up that Daniel had to giggle, immediately clapping his hand over his mouth so Jack wouldn't hear and be embarrassed. Jack just laughed harder, waving one hand weakly in Daniel's direction. Sara followed Jack's gesture, wiping tears of merriment from her cheeks. 

"Hi..." she managed, and started laughing again, holding her ribs. "Ow... ow..." 

Daniel could feel himself grinning. Jack and Sara weren't like the grownups he was used to. They acted more like kids than anything. It was kind of nice. 

He crawled under the table to sit cross-legged near them, carefully avoiding the puddles of water and sad drifts of popping soapsuds. 

Sara took a few deep breaths and smiled at him. "You must be Daniel," she said, eyeing the pie tin Daniel had cradled in one arm. "I'm Sara." She jerked a thumb in Jack's direction. "His wife." 

Jack rolled over, gasping for breath. "Actually, I just sneak into random apartments and tickle strange women. I've never seen her before in my life." 

Sara stuck her tongue out and made a /thbbbbt/ noise. "You'd better not!" 

Jack propped himself up against the refrigerator and placed a hand over his heart. "I love you, Sara, you're the light of my life, the apple of my eye, the joy of my being, we're hungry, we want dinner?" 

Sara shook her head. "Daniel gets dinner. I can tell he's a nice boy, bet he never sneaks up on anybody and puts soapsuds in their hair." 

Daniel shook his head vigorously, thoroughly enjoying their banter. 

"You, my honeybun, my schnookums, my poopsie, had better start cleaning up some of this mess, and I'll see if I can find you some water and a crust of bread." 

Jack looked mournfully in Daniel's direction. "No love. I get no love." 

Sara got up and walked around the table. Daniel looked at Jack sideways, assessing his mood, and then impulsively blew him a kiss. 

Jack gave him a surprised look and Daniel ducked his head, mortified. 

"Daniel loves me," he heard Jack call impudently. 

"He's young, he doesn't know any better," Sara yelled back from some other part of the apartment. 

"All, right, kiddo." Jack got to his feet and offered Daniel a hand up. "Let's start getting this mess cleaned up, what do you say? We can put the pie here for now." He placed the slightly worse-for-wear container on the counter and grabbed a handful of paper towels. 

Sara came back in and tossed Jack a dry shirt. "You're dripping all over my kitchen, flyboy," she said sternly, and turned to Daniel. "I have some macaroni and cheese heating up in the oven. Do you like macaroni and cheese?" 

Daniel had to think for a minute before he could remember where he'd had macaroni and cheese before. It had been in the orphanage, served from a huge rectangular metal container. He shrugged and nodded. It had been okay. A lot different from what he was used to, but okay. A little bland maybe. 

Sara smiled. "Great. It should be ready by the time Jack finishes cleaning up." She opened a cupboard and took out a stack of plates, then paused suddenly, looking thoughtful. "Your mom knows you're here, right?" 

Daniel froze. For a moment it felt like his heart had stopped in his chest, just given one big last thump and gone still. 

"Foster mother," he whispered. 

Sara knelt down in front of him, reaching up to brush his hair back from his forehead. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I didn't mean to upset you." 

Daniel forced a smile and gave a tiny shrug. He knew she hadn't meant it. He pushed away the hurt for later, and reached out to take the plates. 

Sara got the message. She kept his gaze for another moment, then smiled, a nice smile with real affection behind it. "Okay. Here, give me your jacket and take a seat. Unless you're cold?" He shook his head. She smiled and touched his hair again, and left with his coat. 

* * *

Daniel eased his way through the window into Mrs. Weaver's apartment and stood there for a moment, standing still in the silence like a spider trapped in amber. The apartment was dark in an unused sort of way that reminded him of some of the places his parents had excavated, only without the treasures. 

He padded to the living room and peered in. Mrs. Weaver was sitting in her armchair before the darkened television, her head bent. Her shoulders moved restlessly and Daniel realized with a sudden sick shock that she was crying. 

He stood paralyzed, unsure what to do. He'd never seen a grownup cry before, except maybe at his parents' funeral. He got the feeling there had been people crying then, but he hadn't been paying much attention to anyone else. 

He took a step closer to Mrs. Weaver's chair, then another, feeling his way carefully as if the floor would give out from under him at any moment. When he was little and he'd cried mom had stroked his hair and hummed, rocking him back and forth. He could remember feeling the vibrations of her voice thrumming against the side of his head, and being so fascinated by it that he forgot to cry. He didn't really want to hum for Mrs. Weaver, because that was a mom thing, but he figured the stroking might help. 

He reached the side of her chair and reached out tentatively, watching his hand as it approached her head. It didn't really seem to belong to him any more. 

He touched her hair. It was oddly stiff, held in place by bobby pins and some kind of hairspray, and felt weird against his fingertips. He pulled his hand back and rubbed his fingers against his shirt front. 

After a moment Mrs. Weaver straightened up, blowing her nose on the pale blue handkerchief she kept tucked into her sleeve. She jumped when she saw Daniel standing so close. 

"Goodness, Daniel! You startled me! Where did you come from?" 

Daniel didn't answer, too fascinated by the trails of mascara running down her face to pay attention. Her painted mouth curved into a smile and for a moment Daniel felt like he wasn't looking at a face at all, just a collage of features that didn't really belong together. 

Mrs. Weaver didn't seem to notice that he hadn't answered. "That's nice, dear. Go get ready for bed, and don't forget to brush your teeth!" 

He backed up a step towards the door, still facing Mrs. Weaver. He wanted to tell her it was okay, she didn't have to be sad, but he didn't know what she was sad about. Maybe she did have to be sad. Sometimes that was the only thing you could do. 

He bumped up against the doorjamb and fumbled his way back into the hall, trying to keep his eyes on her as long as possible. There was a wrongness about her he could feel in his very bones, and it scared him. 

He stood in the hallway with his back against the wall and his hands spread out against the wallpaper. After a moment he crouched down and peeked back into the living room. Mrs. Weaver had gotten up out of the chair and was fixing her hair in the mirror. The mascara trails were gone. As he watched, she reached over and touched the framed photograph on the television. 

Daniel sat back on his heels, away from the door, and then got up and went to his room. He'd noticed the picture when he'd first gotten to the Weavers' apartment. It was Mr. and Mrs. Weaver on their wedding day, Mrs. Weaver looking pretty much just like she did now except for her face. Her smile had been real then. 

He pulled his pajamas on slowly and wondered when Mr. Weaver would come back. He left from time to time for his job, Mrs. Weaver had explained, but he would be back in time for Christmas. Daniel tried to imagine the apartment with another grownup in it and couldn't. 

He clambered onto his bed, dragging his pillow down to the foot so he could curl up and look out the window at the stars. It was a nice night out and he wondered if Jack had gone back out to the fire escape to stargaze. For a moment Daniel toyed with the idea of getting up and going to join him, but he could hear Mrs. Weaver moving about in the apartment and decided he really just felt like being alone. He closed his eyes, savoring the leftover sweetness of strawberries and rhubarb in his mouth, and fell asleep. 

* * *

Miss Elliot shoved her papers into a haphazard stack and spared a glance for the boy sitting across from her. 

"How's the new home working out, Daniel?" 

There was no response. He stared absently out the door to her left at the bustle in the main room, one hand playing absently with the zipper of his jacket. 

"Any complaints?" 

Still nothing. She gave a tiny sigh. 

"Well, let me know if something comes up." 

Daniel got up and left. 

* * *

It was raining. 

Daniel watched the water drip down the windowpane and sighed. It didn't rain much in Egypt, and when it did it was a cause for celebration. He could remember the acrid tang of it, the coolness against his skin, remembered running out into the rain with his father to dance in the mud. Mom had been kind of mad when they got back and had said they would track mud all over everything, but then Dad had pulled her outside too and they had all danced together. 

In America Daniel hated the rain. Rain meant everyone had to stay inside for recess. It meant the musty smell of wet rubber raincoats and people blowing their noses a lot. It meant being damp and chilled in class because he didn't have a raincoat and he'd forgotten his hat. The rain was cold in America, and he hated the feel of it sliding down the back of his neck and sticking his shirt to his skin. 

But most of all, Daniel hated the rain because that meant the stars weren't out. No stars meant no Jack, because the fire escape was slippery and dangerous and miserable. 

He leaned his forehead against the cold glass and watched the reflection of Mrs. Weaver's television show. It had a mother named Harriet and a father named Ozzie and two kids named David and Ricky. Daniel thought it was boring and really would have preferred to stay in his room, but after seeing Mrs. Weaver cry the other night he didn't like leaving her alone too much. 

He sighed again. Stupid rain. Stupid puddles. Stupid wet cold empty boring city. Stupid TV show with stupidly boring people. Stupid stultis durakh glupust estupido. 

It was /boring/. 

* * *

Jack gave his dress shoe a last polish and set it down an a piece of newspaper. Rain was hell on fancy footwear. 

He picked up his polishing kit and took it to the hall closet, tucking it away behind a cardboard box holding his baseball glove and hockey skates. He remembered hating the rain as a kid - rain meant no playing outside. What was that rhyme they'd all sung when they were little? "Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day..." 

He gave the clock a slightly perplexed look. Sara hadn't mentioned having anything to do after work today, but he supposed it was always possible she'd had to stay behind and help Dottie out with something. 

Right on cue, the front door opened to admit Sara, wet and shivering. She had a thin sheaf of papers in one hand. 

"Sara!" Jack said, not even trying to disguise the relief in his voice. "Here, let me get your coat..." his voice trailed off when he caught the stunned expression on her face. "What's wrong?" 

Sara held the papers out to him. "I went to the library after work today. Did a little research." 

Jack held her gaze, ignoring the documents. "About what?" 

"Daniel's parents. I know how they died." 

Jack stared at her for another moment, then reached out and took the papers. Sara turned away with her coat, so he took the bundle into the kitchen and started the coffee maker. "How did you find them?" 

Sara came in and sat down at the kitchen table. "Daniel's name was printed on the collar of his jacket, so I went through the obituaries until I found them." 

"Didn't that take a while?" 

"They died a year ago. It wasn't that hard." Jack handed her a cup of coffee. "I think you should read it, Jack." She wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic and shivered. 

Jack gave her a concerned look but didn't say anything, turning his attention instead to the fruits of Sara's research. 

The first page was a photocopy of an article in the Arts section of the New York Times about an exhibit on ancient Egypt opening at the Museum of Art. There was a grainy picture of two people in a desert, with the caption "Drs. Claire and Melburn Jackson at their dig outside of Aswan, Egypt in 1972." 

"His parents were archaeologists?" Jack asked. Sara nodded. He studied the photo for another minute, wondering if the blurry smudge in the distance behind them was Daniel or if they'd left him in America while they traveled. 

The second page was also from the Times. "Museum accident claims two," the headline read. 

"An accident at the Museum of Art today claimed the lives of Dr. Melburn Jackson, Egyptologist, and his wife Dr. Claire Ballard Jackson, a linguist. The couple was setting up an exhibit on ancient Egypt when a rebuilt stone temple collapsed, killing them instantly." The article went on to talk about how the museum denied responsibility for the accident and how no foul play was suspected, but Jack barely noticed it. His eyes were drawn instead to the third page, the obituary, and the single line at the bottom of the article: "They are survived by their son, Daniel Jackson." 

"I think he saw it," Sara said. 

"The accident?" Jack asked. "We don't know that." 

"He doesn't talk to anyone." 

"Maybe he's just shy." Jack stacked the papers together roughly and pushed the pile away into the center of the table. 

"Maybe he saw it," Sara countered. 

"Just because he doesn't talk much doesn't mean he's traumatized." 

"Look at his eyes, Jack. His eyes are old." 

Jack got up from the table. "I'm going to go out for a while." 

Sara closed her eyes and took a sip of coffee, feeling the hot liquid burn a path through her chest and down to her stomach. 

"Will you be back for dinner?" 

She heard him pause as he put on his coat. "Yes." There was another pause. "I'm just going to get some milk. We need some milk." There was an apologetic note to his voice. 

"Okay. Don't drown on your way." 

She heard him snort. "I'll bring my water wings." 

The front door opened and shut, and he was gone. 

Jack would be okay. He just needed a little time to get his thoughts in order. It wasn't his fault he was an O'Neill and therefore completely incapable of dealing with emotions. Sara smiled a little to herself, and got up to start dinner. The pile of articles stayed in the center of the table, where they could be examined later. 

* * *

Daniel stared down at his workbook, bored beyond belief. Mrs. Kirkbright was talking about spelling and silent consonants and sounding things out carefully as you read. Jenny Dwight was stumbling her way through a sentence on cats in trees, sounding scared and defiant at the same time. 

Daniel knew how she felt. Mrs. Kirkbright had called him up to the board once to read, and hadn't been too pleased when Daniel just stood there and stared. She didn't call him to the board any more. 

He began to fill in the circles on the letters with his pencil, careful not to color outside the lines, and then decided they looked weird that way and erased it. He could practice his heiratic in the margins instead. 

Jack hadn't been out on the fire escape for the past few days. The first day it had been rainy and the second had been cold, but Daniel sat out anyway, shivering in his jacket and trying to remember the way the desert heat baked you down to your bones every morning. He loved that feeling. 

The third day he didn't know why Jack hadn't come, but he had been a little surprised to realize how much he missed the older man's presence. He was worried it was because Jack had gotten tired of talking to himself. Daniel knew he would get bored if no one ever seemed to pay attention to what he was saying. 

Maybe he could try to talk to Jack, if Jack came back. Not much, but just enough to let Jack know he really was listening. Not enough to offend him. He could keep it simple. Maybe he could say something about constellations, because Jack liked them. And if Jack already liked talking about them, well, then he would hardly object if Daniel talked too, right? 

Daniel put down his pencil and rolled it back and forth across the pages of his workbook. The rest of the class was putting their workbooks away and taking out something else, but Daniel rarely paid attention to what the rest of the class did and doubted Mrs. Kirkbright would notice anyway if he had the wrong book. 

He really hoped Jack wouldn't be mad. Jack seemed to like talking, and he and Sara were definitely noisy when they were together. So maybe talking would be okay. Just a little. 

* * *

"Cassiopeia," Daniel said suddenly. 

Jack gave him a surprised look. "What about it?" 

They were sitting outside on the fire escape again, watching the stars. It wasn't a great night for it - scattered clouds and a first-quarter moon all combined to make the stars dim at best. Add to that the fact that Daniel had been palpably nervous all night, and Jack had begun contemplating either cutting the evening short and going back inside, or telling Daniel to spit it out already. 

Daniel flicked a finger up at the constellation overhead, darting Jack an uncomfortable look. "Cassiopeia. Queen of Ethiopia, married to Cepheus and mother of Andromeda." 

"Andromeda like the Andromeda galaxy?" 

Daniel shot Jack a grateful look and relaxed a fraction. "Yes." 

"What happened to her?" 

"Cassiopeia boasted that she was more beautiful than the Nereids and so Poseidon sent floods and sea monsters to kill the people." 

"Nereids?" 

"Sea nymphs." 

"So all the people were killed?" 

"Oh, no. Cepheus tied Andromeda to a rock as a sacrifice and Perseus happened to come by and he saved her and killed the sea monster." 

"And they all lived happily ever after?" 

Daniel grinned. "Yeah." 

Jack grinned back. "That's pretty neat stuff." 

Daniel blushed. "You like hearing the stories?" he asked Jack uncertainly, suddenly shy again. 

Jack smiled reassuringly and put his arm around Daniel's shoulders. Daniel tensed a little but didn't pull away. "Yeah, it's interesting. You're pretty smart to know all that." 

Daniel's smile faltered a little. "My parents told me." 

"Do all the constellations have stories?" 

Daniel shrugged a little. "I think so." 

"Cool." Jack rubbed Daniel's shoulder until he felt the boy begin to relax a little. "So... what about Castor and Pollux?" 

* * *

"Morning, Daniel," Sara said, catching sight of him as she turned to lock the apartment door. "You headed to school?" 

Daniel nodded. Really he'd been planning to skip today and visit a museum, but he didn't feel like explaining that to Sara. 

"Great!" She smiled at him and zipped up her coat. She was wearing the stripy dress with the nametag again, he noticed. "I'm just on my way to work. I'll walk with you." 

Daniel smiled. He didn't mind putting off his museum foray for another day if Sara would walk with him. He liked Sara. She was pretty. 

"So, Jack tells me you know all sorts of interesting stories about the constellations?" she asked once they were out on the street. Daniel smiled, embarrassed, and shrugged. He was glad Jack liked the stories. Daniel had always loved them. 

"I always loved that kind of stuff when I was a kid," Sara told him. "Always had my nose in a book. You like to read, Daniel?" Daniel grinned and nodded. 

"What's your favorite book?" 

"Book of the Dead." 

"Oh? I haven't heard of it. What's it about?" 

"Gods," Daniel said, and knelt down to pull his father's battered copy from his backpack. Sara crouched down next to him, taking the book with the reverence it deserved. She opened it, frowning when she found heiroglyphs. 

"Isn't that a little hard to read?" 

Parts of it were, parts of it weren't. He was getting better at deciphering. He leaned over and tapped the page facing the heiroglyphs. 

"Oh, a translation. That's handy." She flipped through a few more pages. "This looks really interesting, Daniel. I can see why you like it. Can I take a look at it sometime?" 

Daniel beamed at her and nodded vigorously. As far as he was concerned, books were meant to be read. Unread books were sad, and the more people who read books the better. Daniel liked happy books, books that were a little bit tattered around the edges because someone had bothered to treasure them. He tucked the book back into his pack and stood up. 

They walked for another block in silence, the comfortable kind of silence between two people who are thinking about interesting things. Daniel was thinking about which parts of the Book of the Dead he should show to Sara first. He had a lot of favorite parts, but he didn't know how much Sara knew about the Egyptian pantheon. Maybe he'd just start her off at the beginning. 

"Well, here is where we part ways," Sara said. "I work at the restaurant on the corner there." 

Daniel squinted at it. A bright, neatly painted sign said DOTTIE'S in curly script. He smiled a little. Now the stripy dress and the nametag made sense. 

"Have a nice day at school, Daniel." 

"Bye Sara," he called after her. She turned and smiled at him, and then vanished through the door to the restaurant. 

* * *

Daniel hated lunch almost as much as he hated recess. Sure, the lunch room monitors watched their charges more carefully than the recess monitors, but it was infinitely more humiliating to trip over someone's outstretched foot and drop your entire tray in front of everyone than it was to get your face rubbed in the dirt. 

Daniel lagged along at the end of the line of kids from his class. If he was lucky he could find a nice empty table where no one would bother him, but Tommy hadn't stolen his lunch money today and he was a little worried his luck was going to run out. 

His steps slowed and then halted. Maybe... he just wouldn't go to lunch. 

He turned the idea over in his head. It was possible Mrs. Kirkbright wouldn't notice he was gone. He could just slip out and go... where? He was still hungry, and he could never be sure whether Mrs. Weaver would be in the mood to cook dinner or not. 

He watched the last of his class disappear around the corner of the hall. No one seemed to have noticed he'd stopped walking. He glanced furtively behind him, and headed for the door to the outside. 

* * *

Lunchtime was always busy at Dottie's. Sara carefully balanced her full tray, dodging Mike, the cook, as she bustled out the kitchen door into the diner itself. She deposited her burden at the corner booth and headed back towards the counter. 

A flash of red caught her eye and she turned to see Daniel hovering uncertainly by the door. She paused in surprise. Daniel was normally so timid, the last thing she would have expected was to see him cutting school to come to a crowded diner, but as she watched his chin firmed and his shoulders straightened and he marched over to the counter. He clambered up onto one of the stools and then his sense of purpose seemed to abandon him. 

Shaking herself out of her stupor, Sara hurried over to the counter before one of the other waitresses could notice Daniel. She slid her tray onto a shelf and grabbed a menu, putting it down in front of him. He jumped, surprised, then realized who it was and gave her a smile of such relief she was almost taken aback. 

"Hi, Daniel. Hungry?" 

He nodded, still looking a little uncertain, and took an envelope out of his jacket pocket, placing it carefully on the counter. He gave her a worried look. 

She picked it up and opened it, finding a creased dollar bill. 

"Is this your lunch money?" 

He gave her a little half smile that looked more like a wince than anything else. 

"Well, then I guess you'd better decide what you want to eat." She flipped open the menu in front of him, noticing as she did so another customer seating himself at the other end if the counter. "I'll be back in a sec, give you a chance to decide, okay?" 

He beamed at her and turned his attention to the lists of items on the menu. She took her notepad out of her pocket and headed for the other customer, but a hand reached out and stopped her before she was more than halfway. She turned her head to see Dottie frowning at Daniel. 

"Sara, is he in here on his own? You know I don't like kids in here without someone to supervise them." 

"It's okay." She watched Daniel studying the menu with the sort of gravity she usually associated with monumental decisions. "He's my neighbor. I'll vouch for him." 

Dottie let go of Sara's arm and transferred her frown from Daniel to Sara. "Shouldn't he be in school?" 

Sara shrugged. "He's really shy. I don't think he really knows anybody at his school, and I showed him where I worked this morning. I guess he just decided he'd rather eat with somebody he knows." 

"What's his name?" 

Sara grinned, recognizing Dottie's expression as the same one she gave Jack when he came in for a visit. Dottie had four kids and thirteen grandchildren, and she still mothered everyone who came into the diner. Sara could tell Daniel was well on the road to being adopted. 

"Daniel. He doesn't talk much, though, so don't be surprised if he doesn't say anything right away." 

Dottie nodded, then gave Sara a suspicious look. Sara just smiled. "You have that stray puppy look on your face again." 

* * *

Daniel closed the menu carefully, keeping one eye on Sara. He'd seen her talking to a plump older lady earlier who kept sending him funny looks, but since he hadn't been thrown out yet he figured he was okay. 

"What'll it be, hon?" 

Daniel looked up and froze. It was the older lady Sara had been talking to earlier. He had the impression she was giving him a kindly look, but his eyes were riveted to her nametag. 

'Dottie'. Dottie as in 'Dottie's'? 

"Yep, I'm that Dottie, hon," the woman said cheerfully, and for a moment Daniel thought he'd spoken aloud. "So, what are you planning on for lunch?" 

Daniel shot Sara a panicked look, but she had her back to him, talking to someone in one of the far booths. He was on his own. Hesitantly, he flipped open the menu and pointed. 

"Grilled cheese, huh? One of our finest dishes, if I do say so myself." She winked at him, and he found himself smiling back. "You sit tight, hon, and I'll get it for you, okay?" 

"'K-kay," he stammered, blushing furiously. Across the diner, Sara gave him a reassuring smile and he relaxed a little. "Thank you." 

"No problem. Hey, you want fries with that? Course you do. Kids love fries." She smiled again and vanished into the kitchen. 

Daniel wiped his hands on his pants and took a few deep breaths. 

"Hey there," Sara said, ruffling his hair as she passed. He gave her a shaky smile, feeling his confidence coming back a little. This was okay. He could do this. No problem. And he wouldn't have to worry about Tommy or Spencer tripping him up. And the food looked better, too. So, no problem. 

He turned a little on his stool to look at the other people in the diner. People had always fascinated him. He loved to watch them interact with each other, to try and guess what they were like by the way they talked or moved or dressed. He'd been pretty good at it in Egypt, but he was still trying to get his head around American customs. 

He twisted the other way and watched Sara while she worked. She was laughing with some of the customers, taking their menus with one hand while she slipped her notebook into her apron pocket with the other. 

There was a clatter as Dottie set his plate down on the counter in front of him. "Here you go," she said cheerily. "Oh, and here's some ketchup, too. Fries aren't fries without ketchup." He turned to thank her again, but she was already halfway down the counter, intent on her next task, and he didn't want to shout. 

He gave the ketchup a puzzled look. He'd only ever had fries with mayonnaise before. Oh, well - new experiences. That's what Dad had always said. New experiences were what life was about. Without them, everything would just be boring. 

He poured out a small puddle of the red stuff and dipped a fry in it, chewing thoughtfully. Not bad. Kind of nice, actually. Good strong taste. He turned his attention to the sandwich next, and after a moment's contemplation dipped it in the ketchup too. He smiled to himself as he ate. 

Ketchup. Marvelous. 

"Hey, there," Sara's voice said from across the counter. "What are you grinning at, young man?" 

Daniel smiled at her. "Ketchup," he said through a mouthful of lunch. "'sgood. Never had it before." 

She laughed. "What did you put on french fries, then?" 

Daniel took another bite of sandwich. "Mayonnaise." 

Sara made a face. "Ew!" 

Daniel gave her an impish smile. "Not ew. Just different." He nudged his plate in her direction. "Want to try it?" 

She gave him a skeptical look, then went into the kitchen and got a small saucer of mayonnaise. She dipped a french fry into it and gave it a dubious look. "You sure about this?" 

"Positive." Daniel scooped up some mayonnaise with his own french fry and popped it in his mouth. "New experiences. Dad always said they were what made life worthwhile." 

"Well, that's true enough." Cautiously, Sara put the french fry in her mouth and chewed. Daniel watched her intently as she swallowed and thought for a minute. 

"Different." She said, and smiled. "But no, not ew." 

* * *

"Hey, guess what?" Sara said as Jack came into the apartment. 

He paused from hanging up his coat and gave her a wary look. "What?" 

She rolled her eyes at his expression. "It's nothing bad. Don't be so paranoid!" 

"It's only paranoid when the bad guys aren't real," Jack told her solemnly. "The last time you asked me that question you had just shorted out the entire house trying to rewire the kitchen and you were trying to break it to me gently with a candlelit dinner." 

Sara waved this off with an impatient flap of her dishrag. "You enjoyed the dinner. And I fixed it later." 

Jack had to admit that was true. "So, what catastrophic event has occurred this time?" 

"Not catastrophic. But I think Daniel's starting to come out of his shell." 

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Well, that's good. What happened?" 

Sara grinned at him. "He came to the diner for lunch today." 

Jack's jaw dropped. "Came to the diner? As in, skipped school, walked into a crowded restaurant and ordered lunch?" 

Sara beamed. "Yep." 

"Daniel 'I'm scared stiff to even tell you my name' Jackson?" 

"The one and only. He came in, gave me his lunch money, ordered from Dottie... we even had a conversation." 

Jack whistled. "Good for him! What did you talk about?" 

"French fries. He eats his with mayonnaise." 

"Yuck!" 

"Not yuck, just different." 

* * *

/It was a large room, taller than it was wide, the kind of room you could imagine housing a missile or a really huge telescope. Jack stood on a ramp that led to a blank wall and watched a group of people in fatigues come in. They walked past him up the ramp and vanished through the wall. He started to follow them, but someone grabbed his arm./ 

/"Wait for me," Daniel said, and stamped his foot on the ramp./ 

/"Okay," Jack said, but Daniel kept stamping, rhythmic bangs that echoed around the room and made Jack's head hurt. He grabbed Daniel and picked him up so he would stop making such a racket, but the noise kept going./ 

/"Where's it coming from?" he asked Daniel, but Daniel just smiled at him. He could see Daniel talking, but the noise was getting louder and louder and he couldn't hear anything but the knocking, and he had a feeling that what Daniel was saying was really important but he couldn't hear it.../ 

With a start, Jack woke up. Next to him, Sara had her head buried under her pillow and was mumbling something about barbarians at the gate. 

He frowned, surprised, as he realized he could still hear the noise. It seemed to be coming from the living room. 

He staggered out of his room and followed the noise to the window, where his sleep-fogged eyes saw Daniel on the fire escape and his cobwebbed brain registered the fact it was Daniel making the noise. The boy stopped knocking when he caught sight of Jack and even through the distortions of the window pane Jack could see he was grinning broadly. He pushed up the window. 

"Good morning, Daniel," he said, but Daniel didn't seem to register his sarcasm. 

"Morning, Jack! Guess what? It /snowed/!" 

Jack blinked out the window and realized that Daniel was right. It had snowed. There were about four inches of the white stuff covering the ground, outlining tree branches and burying cars. He sighed, thinking of all the shoveling he was going to have to do. 

"So it did." He glanced over at Daniel's expectant face and relented. "Tell you what - you go put on your hat and mittens, and I'll meet you outside. We can go play in the park." 

The earliness of the morning, the cold air from the open window on his bare feet, the annoyance at being woken from a deep sleep all faded away at the brilliance of Daniel's smile. Daniel gave a bounce - an honest-to-god bounce - and hurled himself back across the fire escape into his own apartment. Jack shut the window and turned to find Sara giving him an amused look from the bedroom door. 

"I think we've created a monster." 

* * *

"Do you believe in aliens?" Daniel asked Jack idly. They were flopped in a snow bank near the entrance of the park, winded from a hectic hour of romping in the snow. Daniel leaned a little against Jack as they stared up at the still-falling snow. 

"What, like on Star Trek?" Jack asked. Daniel gave him a blank look, and Jack resolved to introduce him to the Wonder That Was the Enterprise. "No, not really. What about you? You think there's life out there?" 

"I don't know," Daniel said after a long pause. "I think there's a lot of stuff on Earth that can't be explained by what we know now, but I'm not sure if that's because there have been aliens on Earth or because we're just missing seeing something else." 

Jack blinked. "So you think there have actually been aliens on Earth? Not just out there, but... here on Earth?" 

Daniel shrugged. "Why not?" he said reasonably. "Besides, my grandfather's seen them." 

Jack tried to think of something adequate to say. "Seen aliens?" he said finally, trying to keep the skepticism from showing too plainly in his voice. 

Daniel gave him a tiny smile. "Of course, Nick's crazy, so I'd take anything he said with a grain of salt." 

"Crazy, huh? Is that why you aren't staying with him?" 

Daniel pulled away from him slightly, and Jack marked out another mental Daniel Off-Limits area. "He's not legally insane. My mom just said he was crazy." He fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. "He's busy." 

Jack refrained from telling Daniel what he thought of a man who abandoned his grandson to the foster care system, crazy or not. "I bet. Meeting all those aliens must take up a lot of time." 

Daniel gave a little chuckle and Jack relaxed a bit. He was slowly learning the boundaries that came with being one of maybe three people on the planet Daniel trusted, but it wasn't easy going. 

"I'll tell you what. You come over to my place after school tomorrow, and I'll see if I can rustle up an episode of Star Trek for you. It must be playing on some channel." 

Daniel grinned. "Okay." 

"For research purposes, you understand." 

Daniel nodded solemnly. "Homework." 

Jack grinned back. "Absolutely." 

Daniel shivered just as Jack began to be aware of the snow's cold seeping through the protection of his jacket. "I think it's time for us to go inside and warm up. You go change into some dry stuff and I'll start making us some hot chocolate, okay?" 

"Okay." Daniel bounced to his feet and energetically hauled Jack up after him. "Thanks for playing with me, Jack." 

Jack grinned and ruffled Daniel's hair. "No problem, kiddo. As Sara will tell you, I like playing in the snow as much as the next kid." 

Daniel grumbled good-naturedly and skipped ahead a bit on the path. After a few feet, he turned back looking mischievous. "Live long and prosper," he said, giving Jack a perfect Vulcan salute. 

Jack laughed and shoved him in a snow bank. 

* * *

Daniel jerked himself awake and lay staring at the ceiling trying to get his breath back. He'd never had Nightmares before his parents died. His mother had worried at first that being exposed to burial chambers and workmen's superstitions would make him anxious, but after she caught him compiling a journal of the workmen's stories she relaxed. He could remember her boasting to his father that he must take after her because he took impeccable notes. 

His Nightmares were like old friends now. In a perverse way, he welcomed them. He had only one photograph of his parents, a blurry one taken on his sixth birthday in front of Djoser's step pyramid, and he worried that someday his parents might exist only as an out-of-focus black and white static image is his head. The Nightmares, while horrible, were at least proof he could still remember them. 

He got to his feet and paced restlessly around his room. He could feel something swelling in his chest, pressing against his ribcage until his chest felt full to bursting, and he tried not to breathe too hard as if that would somehow keep it from growing. He wrapped his arms around himself and hugged hard, trying to push the feeling back. 

It didn't go. Finally, he snatched the blanket off his bed and went out to the fire escape. 

It was a quiet night, clear and cold, and the fresh air made the pressure in his chest ease a bit. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and sat down near the wall of the building where the grating was free of snow, watching the city before him. In the distance, he could see the bright uneven lights of the office buildings and wondered who would be working this late. Far away, he could hear car horns honking and people shouting, but his neighborhood was mostly still. A cat burst across the sidewalk, streetlight flashing on its fur as it slipped shadow-like from pole to pole, and then vanished behind a trash can. He wondered if it had a home. 

He leaned his head back against the brick and sighed. Sometimes he wished he were a cat, or maybe invisible. It would be so much easier if people just didn't see him. There would be no worrying about whether what he was doing was right or not, no anxiety over being singled out. Tommy and Spencer wouldn't pick on him. Mrs. Kirkbright would never call him to the board or nag him about his homework. He could just float around and watch people without making them nervous or getting in their way. 

Invisibility would be good. He could slip through the night like a cat-shadow. He wouldn't have to /be/ anymore. /Being/ was exhausting. 

Daniel sighed again, drew the blanket tightly about his shoulders, and waited for the sun to rise. 

* * *

Mrs. Kirkbright did not look pleased. She stood next to Daniel's desk and stared down at his mostly blank workbook, her arms crossed. Daniel stared at it too. Small black and white drawings formed a column on the left side of the page. He was supposed to have written down what they were on the corresponding lines to the right. 

The first picture was of a cat. Chat. Gatto. Katze. Feles. Koshka. Tazaalib. 

"Mister Jackson, if you persist in not doing your homework..." 

Daniel let her voice wash over him. It was amazing how much disdain and condescension she could pack into just saying his name. And it wasn't like he hadn't done his homework. He had looked at it, decided it was silly, and written in a few answers. It wasn't his fault she didn't know that the Egyptian patron goddess of cats was Bastet. Or maybe she just didn't recognize the heiratic he'd used. It had been a toss-up between doing the full cartouche that formed Bastet's name but having to draw it in sideways so it would fit on the line, and doing the heiratic that worked horizontally. 

The bell rang for recess and the rest of the class got up to go, but Mrs. Kirkbright kept lecturing. Daniel could see the other kids lined up at the door, waiting for Mrs. Kirkbright to let them out. They were giving him distinctly unfriendly looks. He ducked his head down further. 

Finally, finally, Mrs. Kirkbright bustled away and opened the door. Daniel had been paying so much attention to whether or not he'd gotten the heiratic right, because maybe that was her problem, he hadn't paid attention to what she was saying. He hoped it hadn't been anything too important. 

He zipped his jacket up slowly as usual, but this time he managed to do the whole thing himself without Mrs. Kirkbright hurrying him along. She was sitting at her desk swallowing pills out of a white plastic bottle and didn't even seem to realize he was still there. He was tempted to see if he could get away with staying inside for recess without her noticing, but by the way she was rubbing her head he thought she probably wanted some time to herself. Mom had gotten bad headaches too sometimes, usually because she'd managed to break her last pair of glasses and persisted in translating without them. When her headaches were really bad he wasn't allowed to make any noise. Not that that was ever a problem for Daniel. He was good at being quiet. 

He went to the door as silently as possible and slipped out, easing it shut so carefully the latch didn't even make a clicking sound. He turned around and ran right into Tommy Simpson. 

Daniel didn't even have time to realize what was going on before Tommy grabbed one arm and Spencer the other. They dragged him to the open area beyond the swing set and shoved him down on the ground. 

"He's It!" Tommy yelled. 

Daniel picked himself up slowly and looked around. He was standing at the center of a ring of kids from his class. Most of them were holding balls, the big red ones for basketball and the black-and-white ones for football. 

Soccer, he reminded himself. It was called soccer in America. 

Tommy threw the first ball, and Daniel saw it coming and ducked. But there was one after that, and another after that, and his glasses were knocked off and soon they were hitting him regularly and all he could do was curl up and try to protect himself as much as possible. He kept thinking of all the stories in the Bible where people got stoned to death. He supposed this was sort of what it felt like, only with balls instead of stones. 

There was a shout and the barrage stopped. Daniel dimly heard one of the recess monitors yelling at Tommy, and Tommy yelling back that they were only playing Coliseum Dodgeball and Daniel had never said he didn't want to play. Daniel tried to take comfort in the fact that while Tommy didn't know what the Coliseum was and probably couldn't even spell it, Daniel had actually been there. They hadn't played dodgeball when he'd visited, though, which made him wonder where the game's name came from. 

A hand touched his shoulder and he uncurled tentatively, glancing up at his savior. He thought he recognized her as one of the first-grade teaching assistants, a nice lady with a long black braid and a Hispanic accent he hadn't been able to place to a particular country yet. She looked worried. 

"It's okay, they're gone. Are you all right?" 

Not Spain, she didn't lisp at all. Maybe Argentina or Colombia by the way she pronounced her y's. Daniel wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve and nodded. He was kind of sore, which he suspected would only get worse as time went on, and his nose was bleeding a little, but nothing major. Fixable. Survivable. Not like being stoned for real. Not like being crushed. 

He cut that thought off quickly but it was too late. He could feel tears pricking at the backs of his eyes and a swelling in his throat that made it painful to swallow. Angrily he turned away, jerking his shoulder out from beneath the lady's comforting hold, and ran his fingers through the snow by his knees, looking for his glasses. After a moment the lady joined him in his search, maybe not entirely sure what she was looking for but helping anyway. 

His fingers touched slippery glass and he picked up a lens, whole despite not being attached to the frame any more. The lady made a sympathetic noise and another moment of searching turned up the rest. Daniel clenched his fist around the lens, helpless fury swelling hot and hard in his stomach. 

The lady touched his shoulder again, slipping the frames into his coat pocket. "Let's go see the nurse. She'll get you some ice for that eye." 

Daniel reached up to feel his eye, noticing for the first time that it was starting to swell a bit. He got to his feet and followed her into the building. 

* * *

Ximena kept an eye on the boy as they walked through the halls to the nurse's office. He was probably going to have an impressive black eye in a few hours and his jacket was torn at the elbow, but otherwise he looked all right. Her brother Raoul had gotten into worse fights before and come out fine, so she wasn't particularly worried. 

The nurse's office was always crowded during recess. She sat the boy down on a vacant chair and knelt down in front of him. 

"What's your name?" 

He looked at her for a minute, not saying anything, then reached back and tugged on the collar of his red jacket until she could see DANIEL JACKSON written on the tag in bold black permanent marker. She patted his knee. 

"Okay, Daniel. I'm just going to see if I can find you an ice pack or something. You okay here by yourself for a little?" 

He shrugged and looked away, so she wove her way through the crowd of children to the nurse's desk. Dinah glanced up at her and went back to digging through a large box of what appeared to be assorted medical supplies. 

"What do you want?" 

"I need some ice. Black eye." 

Dinah jerked a thumb over her shoulder towards the small freezer tucked between two battered green file cabinets. "Help yourself." 

Ximena found a box of plastic bags on top of the freezer and filled one, carrying it wrapped in a paper towel back to her small charge. He was sitting right where she'd left him, inspecting the remains of his glasses. 

"Here you go." He glanced up at the ice pack and took it, turning it over curiously in his hands before pressing it gingerly to his face. He gave her a tiny smile of thanks and went back to studying his glasses. 

She studied him covertly. He was a nice-looking kid, although he seemed to shrink into himself whenever anyone came near. The fact that he had yet to speak intrigued her. Her brother Raoul had been small for his age and had been picked on a lot by other children until he learned how to fight back, and there was something about this boy that reminded her of him. 

She got up and went back to the nurse's desk. Dinah was over in the corner, tending to a scraped knee, and never noticed Ximena looking up the boy's file and copying down his address on a small scrap of paper. She went back to the boy. 

"Daniel, is there someone at your home right now?" 

He gave her a puzzled look and nodded slowly, obviously confused. She smiled reassuringly. 

"Okay. Why don't you go get your stuff from your classroom and I'll walk you home?" There was plenty of time to get from the school to the address listed in the boy's file before she would be missed. He smiled suddenly at her, taking her by surprise, and headed for the door, still holding the ice pack to his face. 

It only took a few minutes to convince Dinah to send Daniel Jackson home for the afternoon, and by the time she was finished Daniel was already standing patiently in the hallway with his backpack and the now repaired glasses. 

"Let's go, shall we?" she said, holding out her hand. After a slight hesitation, the boy reached out and took it, giving her a tentative smile. She smiled back and they started walking. 

He remained silent as they walked, but Ximena kept up a stream of chatter that he seemed to like listening to. She told him about how she had come from another country, very different from this one, where they spoke a different language and explained that was why she had an accent. She told him about Raoul and her sister Maria and how they used to play as children, and he smiled when she told him about some of the trouble they'd gotten into. 

They reached the apartment building and climbed the stairs to the third floor. Ximena scanned the doors for the right apartment number, but just as she found it Daniel tugged her hand to the next-door apartment. Ximena frowned. 

"Don't you live in that one?" she asked, but he was already knocking on the other door. There was a shout from inside the apartment and after a moment the door opened to reveal a tall blonde woman in jeans and a sweatshirt. 

"Daniel? What are you doing home so early?" she asked, and didn't seem surprised when his answer was merely to tilt his head so she could see the swelling red mark around his eye. She frowned and knelt down in front of him. 

"Wow, you're going to have quite a shiner there, Daniel! What happened?" 

Daniel didn't answer, glancing over his shoulder at Ximena. The blonde woman stood up immediately. 

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't even see you there. I'm Sara O'Neill. Would you like to come in?" 

"No, thank you - I just wanted to make sure Daniel got home okay. You're his mother?" she asked uncertainly. 

Daniel was already heading past Ms. O'Neill into the apartment, but he stopped and looked back at her words. Sara laughed. 

"No such luck, I'm just a friend. Daniel lives next door. You sure you don't want to come in for some coffee or something?" 

An enormous smile blossomed on Daniel's face at the blonde woman's words, and Ximena smiled. "No, really, I'm fine. I'd better be getting back. Bye, Daniel!" 

Daniel gave her a small wave, and Mrs. O'Neill shut the door. 

* * *

Sara took in Daniel's smile with a puzzled but gratified look. "What?" she asked. 

Daniel shook his head. "Nothing." 

She leaned over and inspected his face. "That's going to be a pretty impressive shiner in the morning. What happened?" 

His smile slipped a little. "Can I wait until Jack gets home? Then I'll only have to tell it once." 

"Okay." Sara tousled his hair. "Go get some fresh ice for your eye. I'm making cookies, if you want to help." 

"Neat!" He grinned at her and shucked his jacket, bouncing into the kitchen. Sara smiled and picked it up, noticing the torn elbow as she did so. "Hey, Daniel? Want me to patch this for you? I think I've got some red fabric that will match." 

Daniel stuck his head around the door, a wet but empty plastic bag in one hand. "Sara?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Do you... could you do it in another color?" 

"Sure." She sounded puzzled. "I've got an old pair of Jack's jeans I can use. Nice and tough. Want me to do both elbows so you aren't lopsided?" 

Daniel looked relieved. "Yes, please. Thanks, Sara." 

"No problem." She set the jacket down. "I expect payment, though. You're going to have to do a job for me." 

"Okay. What is it?" 

She took the dripping plastic bag from him and carried it to the freezer. "You're going to have to help me eat these cookies when I'm done." She gave him a deeply serious look. "You think you can handle that?" 

He grinned cheekily at her. "Only if Jack doesn't eat them first." 

* * *

Sara frowned into the cookie dough. "This doesn't look right. How does it taste?" 

Daniel gave the soupy mixture a wary look and tentatively scooped up a little on his finger. He stuck the finger in his mouth and immediately spat into the sink. 

"Ew!" 

"Different?" Sara asked hopefully. 

"Ew!" 

"Right." She scowled at her recipe. "I wonder what I forgot..." 

"The part that makes it taste good?" Daniel suggested snidely, and paled. "Sorry, Sara - I didn't mean to be rude - " 

Sara gave the bowl a forbidding look. "No, you're right. Whatever part of this recipe is supposed to make these cookies taste good is most certainly not here." She glanced sideways at Daniel, who looked as though he wished the floor would swallow him whole. "Well, there's only one thing to do with cookie dough this awful." 

"What?" 

"Food fight!" 

* * *

The kitchen was occupied by a cloud. 

Jack blinked and looked again. No, it really was. It was completely white. 

A small patch of whiteness detached itself from where the counter used to be and turned in his direction. At least, he assumed it did - he wasn't entirely sure those two blue spots he could see were eyes. It could be some sort of alien cloud-being with horns. 

"Jack!" the cloud-being blurted, and collapsed to the flour, laughing hysterically. Another patch of white, already on the floor, joined in. 

"What the /hell/?" Jack exclaimed. The cloud-beings just laughed harder. He squinted into the kitchen. The whiteness was beginning to dissipate a little, and he could make out the counter, now, and a yellow ceramic bowl Sara used for baking, and an open bag of... 

"Flour?!" He burst out incredulously. "Is that /flour/?" 

The larger cloud-being leaned on the smaller one for support and managed to gasp out "Sort of..." before they both collapsed laughing again. Jack decided to cut his losses while he could and went to the bedroom to change out of his uniform, leaving irregular white footprints on the living room carpet as he went. 

A few moments' absence did a lot to restore sanity. He returned to find the whole kitchen more or less visible, the cloud-beings breathing again and losing a bit of their cloudiness, very sheepishly attacking the counter with wet towels. 

"Why is there a cloud in the kitchen?" Jack demanded. 

"Sara was going to make cookies," Daniel said, and paused. 

"The batter was... well, it tasted..." Sara's voice trailed off. 

"Different," Daniel said supportively, and they both laughed. 

"And so ..." Jack prompted. 

"Food fight!" Daniel cheered, and immediately tried not to look like he had had anything to do with so immature and irresponsible a pastime. Jack stared at the catastrophe in the kitchen, and at Sara and Daniel, still covered with flour, then sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and laughed until his sides ached. 

"I really love you two, you know that? When I think of the normal, boring things I could come home to every day, I thank my lucky stars that I find flour storms and electrical mishaps." 

Sara stroked his hair and, not incidentally, liberally coated him with flour. "What, is the great Jack O'Neill becoming sentimental? I think I actually heard some feelings there!" 

Jack immediately looked horrified. "Feelings? No!" He looked to Daniel in mock-panicked appeal. "I didn't really say all of that /out loud/, did I?" 

Daniel patted him consolingly on the knee and gave him a floury hug. "We won't tell." 

Sara hooted. "Yes, we will! Blackmail, oh /baby/!" 

Jack reached out suddenly, humor forgotten, and took Daniel's chin in his hand, turning his face into the light. "What happened to your face, kiddo?" 

Daniel's face fell. "I'm fine." 

Jack smiled. "I can see that. Not fine kids don't have flour fights. But can you tell me what happened?" 

Daniel looked away. "It was just a game. I just didn't know how to play." He gave Jack a hesitant smile. 

"What game?" Sara asked softly. 

"Coliseum Dodgeball. Tommy Simpson wanted to play." 

Jack traded mystified looks with Sara. "What's Coliseum Dodgeball?" 

Daniel looked shocked. "You don't know?" 

Sara shrugged. "Never heard of it." 

"Oh." Daniel said, still looking surprised. "Well, it's like regular dodgeball, only you stand in a circle and the it person stands in the middle." 

"Then what happens?" 

"Then everybody throws balls at the it person." 

Jack frowned. "And the it person tries to dodge?" 

"I guess. I never really figured that part out, because I dodged Tommy's ball but everyone else kept throwing. They kept throwing after I got hit too, so I guess it wasn't that either." 

Jack's eyes narrowed. "So basically everyone threw stuff at you?" 

Daniel winced. "Um. Yeah, sort of." He shrugged. "I just didn't understand the rules. I'll figure it out," he added reassuringly. 

Jack leaned over so his face was near Daniel's. "Daniel, I want you to listen to me, okay? If someone wants you to play something you don't want to play, or if they're making you unhappy, go find a grownup to stand near. Got that?" 

Daniel blinked. "Jack, I'll never figure it out if I don't try," he said reasonably. 

"Daniel," Sara said. "Is it easier to figure stuff out if you're watching or if you're all tangled up in the middle of it?" 

Daniel thought about that for a moment. "Watching." 

Sara smiled. "Well, there you go." 

Daniel nodded, still looking doubtful. "Okay." 

"You'll give it a try?" 

"Sure." 

"Good." Sara gave him a smile. "Now, why don't you go change into something a little less floury. You can bring me your dirty stuff and I'll do a load of laundry. Maybe with Jack here we'll be able to figure out those cookies, huh?" 

Daniel smiled. "I think we're out of flour." 

"Nonsense! We can just scrape it off the counter and reuse it. Now scoot." 

Daniel scooted. Once he was gone, Sara gave Jack an unhappy look. Jack held his hands up defensively. 

"I know, I know. I don't like it any more than you do. But you know as well as I do that this bullying is going to keep happening wherever he is and the sooner he learns to deal with it on his own, the better off he'll be." 

Sara frowned. "We can help, Jack. Maybe we could at least go talk to his teacher - " 

"And what happens if they move him to another place? He's a foster child, Sara. They don't stay with one family indefinitely. He's got to know how to do it himself because there's no guarantee his next family will help him." 

"I know." She sighed and looked at her hands. "Maybe..." 

"Maybe what?" 

"Nothing. Never mind. I'd better start cleaning this up." 

* * *

It was a standoff, like the Westerns Mrs. Weaver watched sometimes on TV. On one side there was Tommy and Spencer. On the other side was Daniel. Between them stood Ximena. 

"Come on, Daniel. It's just a game of tag," Spencer coaxed. 

Daniel shook his head. Ximena smiled politely at Tommy and then pointedly ignored him. 

Tommy gave her a challenging look and returned his attention to Daniel. "Scaredy-cat," he hissed. 

Daniel leaned back against the wall of the school and slid down until he was sitting comfortably on the ground. Tommy got the point. Snarling, he retreated. 

Ximena gave Daniel a surreptitious thumbs-up. 

* * *

Everyone in Daniel's class was excited. There was an air of anticipation that seemed to run through the whole school - the classroom and playground buzzed with it and even Mrs. Kirkbright seemed a little more cheerful sometimes. Daniel was content to leave it at that, to sit as usual in the corner and just enjoy everyone else's excitement, but Jack, naturally, had other ideas. 

"Sooo," Jack said, drawing the word out. "What are you going to ask Santa for?" 

Daniel gave him an embarrassed little smile. He'd never really celebrated Christmas with his parents. Sure, Dad had sat him down and explained the origins of the holiday, and Mom had walked him through a Santa Lucia's day ceremony once in deference to Nick, but it had never really seemed that important. He'd been a little surprised at the fervor with which the holiday was embraced in America. 

"I don't know," he said honestly. Daniel didn't believe in Santa Claus, but Jack seemed to think it was important so he was willing to humor him. "I haven't really thought about it." 

"Oh, come on," Jack said cheerfully, slipping an arm around Daniel's shoulders. "There must be something you want more than anything else." 

I want my parents back, Daniel thought, but that seemed unkind to Jack. I want to go home. 

"I don't know," he said again. "I'll let you know if I come up with anything." 

The conversation made him think, though. Not about his own present, but about what he would give to Jack and Sara. He didn't have any money, so buying presents was out of the question. Normally he would just save his lunch money for a few days and go find something in the city, but now that he ate lunch with Sara at the diner that option was gone. And for that matter, should he get a present for Mrs. Weaver too? He wasn't even sure she celebrated Christmas. 

* * *

Jack stared in frustration at the catalogs spread out on the table in front of him. "Kids aren't supposed to be hard to shop for," he complained to Sara, who was sitting a few feet away in like-minded despair on the living room floor. "You just get them lots of toys and they're happy for weeks." 

"He's not a normal kid," Sara said in resignation. "Damn him anyway," she added as an afterthought. 

Jack leaned over and rested his forehead on the table. "I don't think he even knows what he wants. No, I know he doesn't know what he wants. I think he's actually a little surprised we're taking this so seriously." 

Sara sighed and tossed a magazine away to land in an untidy heap. "Well, he didn't grow up here. They probably don't celebrate Christmas in Egypt." 

Jack banged his head on the table. "They didn't celebrate Christmas in /ancient/ Egypt, more like," he corrected gloomily. 

"Ja-ack," Sara sing-songed from the floor, a slow smile spreading across her face. "I think I've got an idea..." 

* * *

It was the doodling that did it. He was sitting in Mrs. Kirkbright's class, drawing aimlessly in the margins of his textbook, when the idea struck. He grinned to himself. 

Perfect. 

* * *

Christmas was fast approaching. Daniel had taken to spending his rare free days in the city just wandering around looking at the shop windows instead of sneaking into museums, and on one particularly fine night Sara took him to watch the skaters in the park. He loved the air of suppressed enthusiasm permeating everything, even if it did mean that the kids in his class were rowdier than usual and Mrs. Kirkbright got even more irritable. It was a good time of year to watch. 

In his spare time, Daniel worked on Jack and Sara's presents. Jack had explained to him with real regret that they were going to Minnesota for Christmas day, but they could do presents before they left. Daniel couldn't have cared less about the actual day. He couldn't wait to show Jack and Sara their presents and as far as he was concerned, the sooner the actual present giving day came, the better. Add to that the fact that Jack kept giving him immensely pleased looks and muttering things like "Just you wait..." or "You're /so/ gonna love this..." and the days leading to the twenty-fourth seemed to drag by. 

Finally, the magical day dawned. Daniel was up with the sun, having gotten out of school the day before, and was crouched on the fire escape fully dressed by the time Jack had stumbled into the kitchen for coffee. Sara let him in, grinning broadly, and ushered him over to the small Christmas tree in the corner to wait while she made hot chocolate. 

"How long have you been waiting out there?" Jack asked, smirking. "All night?" 

"Since /October/," Daniel said, rolling his eyes. He gave a wriggle of excitement. "Do you want your presents now? Can I give them to you now?" 

Sara laughed behind him and handed him a mug of hot chocolate. "Okay, I think we're ready. Are you ready, Daniel?" 

"I don't think he's ready," Jack said skeptically. "Maybe we'd better wait until we get back..." 

"I'm ready!" Daniel whooped, and pulled two flat packages out from under his jacket. He looked them over for a moment, then handed one to Jack and one to Sara. They were neatly wrapped in newspaper and tied with string which Daniel had painstakingly colored red and green. Jack and Sara exchanged amused looks. 

"These are really pretty, Daniel. I like the string." 

"They're better on the inside," Daniel said, leaning forward anxiously. 

Sara bit her lip to hold back a smile and turned her attention to unwrapping her present. Jack ripped his open with enthusiasm, sparing little thought for the state of the wrapping paper. 

"Wow," he said, gazing down at the picture in front of him. "Did you draw this yourself? It's incredible." 

"Don't show me!" Sara admonished him. "I haven't unwrapped mine yet." 

"You like it?" Daniel asked uncertainly. 

"I love it, Daniel. What's it say?" 

Daniel beamed at him. "It's your name, or at least as close to it as I could come. Nobody really knows what ancient Egyptian sounded like, so the sounds associated with heiroglyphs are mostly taken from later Greek or Latin translations of names... what?" 

Jack shook his head, smiling. "Nothing. It's really special, Daniel. I'm going to put it in a frame as soon as I can." 

"Mine too, Jack," Sara said. "This is gorgeous, Daniel. That's really my name?" 

"Yep." Daniel leaned forward to point out the various parts of the picture. "Only royal names are in cartouches, that oval thing with the scrollwork at the top and the bottom. You can pick them out really easily when you've got a whole text in front of you." 

"Cool," Sara said, sounding impressed. 

Jack put his picture carefully to one side. "You know what I think, Sara?" 

Sara nodded solemnly. "Usually." 

"I think it's time to give Daniel what's coming to him." 

"An excellent idea, Lieutenant O'Neill." Sara saluted smartly and bent under the Christmas tree, emerging a moment later with two small, brightly wrapped packages. "Merry Christmas, Daniel!" 

Daniel took the presents with wide eyes. "Wow," he breathed. 

Jack laughed. "And that's just the wrapping paper!" 

Daniel stuck his tongue out at Jack and carefully unwrapped the presents, staring in puzzlement at the card and small wooden spool. Sara, sensing his confusion, came to sit next to him. She picked up the card. 

"This is a library card, Daniel. You can use it to take out any book in the New York Public Library." 

Daniel took the card from her with reverent hands. "/Any/ book?" 

Jack flopped down next to him, picking up the wooden spool. "And this, Daniel, is a yo-yo. One of the greatest inventions of all time. Come on, let's go out to the landing and I'll show you how to make it do tricks." 

Daniel tucked the library card carefully into his shirt pocket. "It does tricks?" 

Jack grinned. "Sure does. Come on." 

* * *

That afternoon, after Jack and Sara had left for the airport, Daniel sat in his bedroom playing with his yo-yo. The library card sat exactly in the center of his dresser, waiting for the twenty-sixth when the library would be open. Daniel was planning on trying to find a book of yo-yo tricks so he could impress Jack later. 

He heard the front door of the apartment open and shut, and something heavy hit the floor. A moment later, he heard a man's voice talking to Mrs. Weaver. 

Intrigued, Daniel tucked the yo-yo into the pocket of his jeans and crept down the hall until he could see the entryway. Mrs. Weaver was helping a balding man off with his coat. 

Mr. Weaver was home. 

* * *

"So, David, how old are you?" Mr. Weaver asked perfunctorily. Daniel stared at his plate and said nothing. Mr. Weaver scowled at Mrs. Weaver. "Doesn't he ever say anything?" 

Mrs. Weaver smiled. "His name is Daniel, dear. He's a little shy. He just needs to get used to you. How was your business trip?" 

Mr. Weaver harrumphed and bent his attention to his dinner. "Fine, although I don't know what Rafferty thinks he's doing. How that man made vice president I have no idea. Utterly incompetent." 

Daniel hunched his shoulders and fingered his yo-yo though the fabric of his jeans. The apartment was too small with Mr. Weaver in it. The furniture seemed too fragile, the silences too heavy. Mr. Weaver seemed to take up an inordinate amount of space for one person. And it didn't help that he didn't appear to know what to do with Daniel. 

Another silence fell at the table. Daniel tried to pretend he was invisible. 

"How long are you home for, dear?" 

"Two days. I have to get back on the twenty-sixth." 

Mrs. Weaver's smile vanished. "Only two days? But - " 

"I'm sorry but that's the way it is. You know how important this time of year is." 

Mrs. Weaver's chin quivered. "But, Robert, it's /Christmas/." she protested. 

Mr. Weaver glared. "Look, we've had this conversation before. You /know/ - " his voice broke off as he seemed to realize Daniel was still at the table. "Donald, Mrs. Weaver and I have something we need to discuss." 

Daniel fled to his room, closing the door after him. He could still hear their voices down the hall, rising in volume. Someone, he guessed Mr. Weaver, hit the table hard and he heard the plates jump. Mrs. Weaver answered back shrilly. 

Daniel curled up on his bed, pulling his pillow over his head. He tucked the yo-yo up under his chin and curled into the smallest ball possible, squeezing his eyes shut tight. 

Down the hall, something clattered to the floor and broke. He could hear both of the Weavers shouting and wondered how they would be able to hear each other. He pulled the covers up over his head too, but he could still hear them. 

"'My heart, my mother, twice,'" Daniel whispered. "'My heart of my coming into being. May there not be resistance to me in judgement; may there not be repulse to me on the part of the divine chiefs; may they not make thy separation from me in the presence of the possessor of the scales. Thou art my ka within my body which formeth and strengtheneth my limbs. /Ab-a en mut-a sep sen hati-a en xeperu-a em aha er-a em meter/...'" 

* * *

The apartment was quiet. Daniel slid cautiously from beneath his covers and stood listening at the door to his room. He hadn't bothered to put on his pajamas before going to bed and his sweater had bunched up uncomfortably around his chest, so he took a minute to straighten it out, and then eased the door open. 

He crept down the hall, slipping from shadow to shadow like a wraith. The television in the living room was on, the sound turned down. Mrs. Weaver was asleep in her armchair, a damply wrinkled handkerchief clenched in one hand. Mr. Weaver's briefcase was gone from beside the front door. 

Daniel tiptoed over to the roll-top desk in the corner of the living room and opened it, wincing at the quiet scrape of wood on wood, but Mrs. Weaver did not stir. A moment's search by the flickering light from the television turned up Mrs. Weaver's address book, a thin leather-bound volume with a white satin ribbon tucked between the pages. Daniel arranged it carefully in the center of the open desk and slipped back down the hall to Mrs. Weaver's bedroom to collect the crocheted blanket from the foot of her bed. He spread it gently over her, tucking it up around her chin, and went back to his room. 

Christmas was no big deal, really. Not for Daniel. But he didn't think Mrs. Weaver should be spending it alone. Surely there was someone in that little book who she'd want to see. There had to be someone she could talk to. 

Nobody was really alone. There was always someone, wasn't there? 

* * *

Jack rounded the corner of the last landing before his floor and came face-to-knees with Daniel, who was crouched down small behind the banister staring at him anxiously. 

"Hi, Daniel. How's it going?" Jack asked, looking up at him through the slats. 

Daniel's hand poked out from where it was tucked between his legs and his chest and gave a tiny wave. Jack frowned and put down his bag on the landing. He could hear Sara coming up behind him on the stairs. 

"Is something wrong?" 

Daniel stared at him for another moment, then said in a very small voice, "Mr. Weaver came home." 

Something heavy and cold landed in the pit of Jack's stomach and he came quickly around the last corner of the stairs and knelt beside Daniel. Daniel turned a little to look at him, still curled protectively against the banister. 

"Did he hurt you?" 

Daniel frowned and uncurled a bit. "No," he said, drawing the word out, obviously unsure why Jack would even ask such a question. Jack relaxed a fraction. "But he made Mrs. Weaver upset and now he's gone." 

Jack frowned. "Are you all right?" There was something strange about Daniel's behavior that was making him uneasy. 

Daniel's eyes flickered to one side. "I'm fine." 

"Is Mrs. Weaver okay?" Sara asked from behind Jack. 

Daniel hesitated. "She wants to go visit her sister tonight," he said finally. 

Jack and Sara exchanged puzzled looks. Suddenly, Sara's expression cleared. 

"Daniel, do you want to stay with us while she's gone?" 

Daniel brightened immediately. "You wouldn't mind?" 

Jack grinned at him. "Mind? Of course not! Go get your stuff, kiddo. I'll make my famous tuna noodle casserole surprise for dinner." 

Sara gave an unladylike snort. "The surprise being that I make it, of course." 

* * *

Daniel jerked himself awake, gasping for breath, and wriggled out from underneath his blanket to stand by Jack and Sara's living room window. The stars were mostly invisible tonight, hidden by a combination of clouds and a full moon, and all of a sudden the apartment seemed too quiet. The silence weighed down on Daniel, pressing in at his ears, until it seemed like he had to be the only one in the whole world for it to be so quiet. He turned and pattered quickly down the hall to stand outside Jack and Sara's bedroom door. 

There. He could hear them now, breathing quietly. Daniel let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and sagged against the doorframe. The floor was cold against his feet, so after a moment he returned to the living room. 

It was too quiet again. He hugged himself, right around the USAF T-shirt Jack had given him to sleep in, tightly enough that he could feel his heartbeat in his arms, but it didn't help. Finally, he pulled his blanket and pillow off the couch and made his way back to the bedroom door. A few moments of creative arrangement later and he had a nice little nest in the corner of the hallway where he could hear Jack and Sara's faint sleeping noises. He curled up, cozy in his makeshift bed, but it was a long time before he went back to sleep. 

* * *

The problem with water, Jack reflected as he lay in bed, was that it didn't take long after drinking it that you had to get rid of it. Heaving a barely audible sigh he eased himself out from under Sara's outstretched arm and trudged to the bathroom. 

Business done, he headed back down the hall, coming to a halt when he caught sight of the bundle of blankets by the bedroom door. When he squinted, he could see Daniel looking solemnly back at him in the darkness. 

"Bad dream, kiddo?" 

There was a barely perceptible nod. Jack bent down and scooped Daniel up in his arms, blanket and all, and carried him back to the living room. 

"What say we sit on the couch and watch the sky out the window, huh?" 

"Okay." 

Jack settled them both on the couch, Daniel tucked against one side and the blanket over them both. They sat for a minute in silence. 

"You know, next time you have a bad dream, you can wake us up. You don't have to stay in the hall." 

Daniel gave him a tiny smile and leaned his head against Jack's shoulder. "Okay. Thanks, Jack." 

"No problem. You want to talk about it?" 

Daniel shook his head, and they were silent for a while, just watching the city lights out the window. Finally, Daniel spoke. 

"Jack, do you ever cry?" 

Jack cocked his head to one side. "Not for a while. Haven't had anything to cry about, I guess." 

"Do grownups cry?" 

"Sure. Everybody cries." 

"Mrs. Weaver cries," Daniel said softly. "I'd never seen a grownup cry before. I didn't know what to do." 

"That you should ask Sara about," Jack said ruefully. "I never know what to do when people cry." 

"Jack?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Thanks for letting me stay with you." 

Jack rubbed his shoulder with one hand. "No problem. You know, you can always stay with us, if you need to." 

"There's always someone," Daniel murmured. "Thanks." 

They stayed there until the sun rose. 

* * *

Daniel looked down at the chalk in his hand. The white dust smudged on his fingers and he resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his pants. He looked at the board, looming in front of him, big and blank and dark, like the night sky with clouds. He traced the swirls of leftover chalk dust with his eyes, and thought about sitting on the fire escape with Jack watching the stars. He wished he was there now. 

A hand closed on his shoulder and Mrs. Kirkbright thrust a piece of paper at him impatiently. "Here, Daniel, just copy this onto the board, okay? Just copy the letters." 

He stared at the scrap of paper for a long moment. Mrs. Kirkbright, fed up with waiting for him to take it, sighed irritably and propped it up against the chalk board. She reached down and grabbed Daniel's chin with too-strong fingers, forcing his head up to meet her gaze. 

"Copy what's on the paper twenty times onto the board, Daniel, and you can sit down again, okay?" 

She let go of his chin and bustled back to her desk, not waiting to see if he followed her instructions. 

Daniel picked up the piece of paper, smoothing it absently between his fingers even though it wasn't creased. Mrs. Kirkbright had nice handwriting, he noticed distantly. 

He looked back over his shoulder at her. She had Spencer by the arm and was lecturing him heatedly. He looked back at the scrap of paper. 

/I will do my homework/ it said. 

Daniel rolled the chalk between his fingers, then reached up as high as he could. He copied her message out neatly, careful to reproduce her handwriting exactly. He surveyed his work critically, and copied the line out a second time. It looked pretty good. 

Something hit him on the back of the head. He turned to see Tommy smirking at him. "Re-tard," Tommy sang. "Four eyed reee-taaaard..." 

Daniel frowned and turned back to the board. He copied out the line a third time, and stared at it. 

Three lines of neat cursive writing. /I will do my homework. I will do my homework. I will do my homework./ 

He reached up again and copied out the line in his own handwriting; round where Mrs. Kirkbright's was angular, straight up and down where hers was slanty, printed where hers was script. And then he copied it again in his best Arabic, and below that in French, Spanish, German, Italian, Latin, Greek, and finally heiratic and heiroglyphics. He thought about making a stab at Coptic or Aramaic, but he wasn't certain enough of his vocabulary, so he let it slide. 

Thirteen lines. He still had seven to do, so he added one in Dutch and rewrote the Arabic, Greek, heiratic and heiroglyphics a few times because he liked the different alphabets. He should really learn Russian someday, he thought. That would be another alphabet to play with. Maybe Norse runes, too. Or Hebrew. That would be fun. 

It occurred to him suddenly that the room behind him was very quiet. He turned to find everyone staring at him. 

His face burned. American kids didn't know different alphabets. He'd done it again. He'd lost track of himself and gotten carried away. He turned quickly back to the board and erased his neat lines of writing with sharp, angry strokes, and scribbled it all over in English, not bothering to make sure the lines went straight and didn't slant down to the right, then hurried quickly back to his desk and sat down, wedging his hands between his knees. Stupid hands. Never did what he told them to. 

The chalk dust from his fingers left white smudges on his pant legs. He rubbed the fabric with his thumb, but the dust just smeared more. 

An awkward hand touched his shoulder. "Daniel?" Mrs. Kirkbright's voice was very soft. 

Daniel stared resolutely at the scarred top of his desk. That swirl towards the top looked a little like the heiroglyph for dishonor. He wondered if it was deliberate. 

"Daniel, I want you to stay after class, okay? I'd like to talk to you." 

And that scribble a little lower down reminded him strongly of Cygnus the swan. He'd have to tell Jack he'd started seeing constellations on his desktop. Jack would like that. 

There was a rustle of cloth at his side as Mrs. Kirkbright knelt down beside him. "Daniel, look at me." 

His eyes slid towards her of their own accord, finally coming to rest somewhere near her collarbone. She gave his shoulder a little squeeze. "You're not in trouble, Daniel. I just want to talk." 

Reluctantly, he nodded, and she got up and vanished towards the front of the class. Daniel stared back at his desk. 

Maybe not Cygnus. Maybe it was more like the Southern Cross. Different angle, a little larger. 

He sneaked a look at Mrs. Kirkbright. She was lecturing again, all traces of the soft-spoken woman of a few minutes before completely gone. 

Stay after class. Daniel swallowed hard and looked down. Definitely the Southern Cross. He couldn't imagine what he'd been thinking when he said it was Cygnus. 

Oh, for crying out loud. 

* * *

The last of the students filed out of the room, one or two of them glancing back at him with an odd mix of glee and sympathy. Daniel ignored them, still staring at his desktop. He felt awful. There was a sort of roiling, churning feeling in his stomach and he wondered if he was going to be sick. Maybe if he got sick, they'd let him go back to the apartment. He risked a glance up at the clock. Sara would be home now. They could make cookies. The last time they had tried to make cookies, after the disastrous flour-fight attempt, they'd eaten so much of the dough there hadn't been enough left to bake. Although, if he came home sick Sara probably wouldn't let him eat cookie dough. Maybe she would make him tea. 

He swallowed hard. His throat felt swollen. 

Mrs. Kirkbright's high heels clicked down the rows of desks and stopped next to him. "I'm going to go talk to somebody for a minute, Daniel, and I'll be back. Stay here, please." The high heels clicked away. Mrs. Kirkbright was back to being cold and professional. 

The silence in the classroom grew. Dimly, Daniel could hear people talking out in the hallway, but there seemed to be a bubble of silence growing around him, sucking away his words. It felt a little like not being able to breathe any more. 

Translating those lines on the board had felt so /good/. The classroom had faded away until it was just him and his words and his memories. He remembered his mother showing him the shapes of the heiroglyphs, drawing them in the sand so he could copy them over and over until he got them right. He remembered his father's hand, large and warm around his, showing him how to hold one of the little camel hair brushes used for clearing sand off delicate artifacts. All of a sudden, the world had made sense again. Maybe his parents were gone and he might as well be living on the moon for all the sense American culture made to him, but words he knew. Words were always the same. 

Far down the hall, he could hear a pair of high heels clicking on linoleum. The sound got louder, breaking his silent, wordless bubble, echoing around him until he wanted to climb under the desk and put his arms over his head the way they did in old movies when they thought someone was going to drop a bomb. Jack always laughed at those parts. 

He heard the door creak open, felt it in every fiber of his being as Mrs. Kirkbright came towards him. He could feel her like a fire against his skin, getting closer and closer, burning him. She touched his shoulder and he flinched. He should have run away while he had the chance. 'Stay here, please,' she had said, and he /had/. Jack wouldn't have stayed. Jack would have run down the stairs or climbed out the window. Jack wouldn't have been stupid enough to write on the board with different languages. Daniel wasn't sure why that had made everybody so upset, but it had. Maybe there was some sort of law about not writing in other languages. Jack had told him about history - recent history, he always joked - on those nights on the fire escape. Things like the Holocaust and Communists. Maybe they thought he was a Communist. Maybe Communists wrote in other languages and they were going to drag him out and shoot him. Daniel had never seen anyone get shot. He'd seen someone get his hand cut off, though. That's what they did to thieves in Egypt. Maybe they were going to cut off his hands for writing with other alphabets. Oh god. They couldn't cut off his hands. He needed his hands. He needed his hands to write. He hadn't meant any harm. He just wanted to show Tommy Simpson he wasn't a re-tard. Four eyes, maybe, but not a re-tard. 

Mrs. Kirkbright's hand closed around his arm and hauled him to his feet. For a moment he was afraid his legs wouldn't hold him, but somehow they did. He tucked his hands up into his armpits. It wouldn't keep them safe, really - adults were so big and he was so small. But it made him feel better. 

Mrs. Kirkbright was saying something. She'd been saying something for several minutes now, he realized, but he hadn't been listening. His brain seemed to be shorting out. There was a buzzing in his ears and he wanted to explain to Mrs. Kirkbright that he hadn't meant to offend anybody, but he was too scared to try. He wanted to beg her to let him go, but had a feeling he would probably only manage to make it worse somehow. 

She was propelling him out of the classroom now and down the hallway. There had been an interesting moment back at the desk when she had realized he wasn't going to be able to move forward on his own and she'd had to give him a push. Now she kept one hand on his back, her thumb and forefinger looped around the collar of his shirt, afraid maybe that if she let go of him for a moment he'd stop walking or just run away. 

He wanted to run. He wanted to run away. He wanted to be gone from here. He hated this place. Hated it. Miserable. He wanted home. He wanted sand. He wanted heat and sun and old things and mom and dad. He wanted to have never heard of New York or seen the Museum of Art. 

They stopped at a door and Mrs. Kirkbright knocked. There were words written on the glass panel in the door, smeared on in black painted block letters. Principal. A voice inside shouted for them to enter. 

Mrs. Kirkbright reached for the doorknob and Daniel made an inarticulate strangled noise of fear. Her hand tightened on the collar of his shirt before he'd even managed to sort out where his legs were and how they worked. He made one stumbling step backwards before the collar got too tight and he had to stop. The door swung open and he held on to his ribcage with both hands, digging in his fingers as if that would save his hands when the time came. 

A stone block. There would be a stone block, stained reddish, and a big knife or a sword. Or maybe in America they used those butcher's cleavers he'd seen when he'd gone shopping with Mrs. Crispe. Big. Heavy. Sharp. 

Mrs. Kirkbright's grip was digging into his shoulder blades and her face was down near his. His breath was coming in harsh pants, quick but not fast enough because there wasn't enough air, never enough air and there was another face next to Mrs. Kirkbright's now, an older man who might have looked kind if he wasn't the one who would be holding the butcher knife and he couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, he had to get away, this was wrong, so wrong, he hadn't meant any harm and with a wrench he was suddenly free and running down the hall, running for all he was worth away from punishment and re-tard and butcher's knives and clicking high heels on linoleum and cloudy night blackboards. 

Daniel burst through the double doors and out into the afternoon. He ran flat out, as if by running as fast and as hard as he could he would somehow take flight and soar all the way back home to Egypt. He didn't care where he was going, as long as he never had to go back. 

* * *

Jack was just opening his front door, arms laden with groceries, when he was stopped by Mrs. Weaver. 

"Mr. O'Neill? Have you seen Daniel lately?" 

Jack frowned. "No, not since last night. Why?" 

She looked worried. "I just got off the phone with his teacher. She said she was taking him to talk to the principal and he ran away. She wanted to make sure he'd gotten home all right, and to tell me that Mr. Ridley still wanted to talk to him." 

Jack put down the groceries. "Did she say why the principal wanted to talk to him?" 

Mrs. Weaver looked startled. "No, actually. I didn't think to ask. That was silly of me." 

Jack smiled reassuringly. "That's okay, you were worried about Daniel. How long ago did he leave the school?" 

Mrs. Weaver blinked at him. "I didn't ask that either. Oh dear, I'm not handling this at all well, am I?" 

Jack smiled again, and hoped she couldn't see through his expression to the worry underneath. Daniel had never struck him as the type to run away. He was more courageous than that, and more stubborn. He must have been badly scared by something to just take off. "No, no, you're doing fine. What time does he usually get home from school?" 

Her expression cleared immediately. "Oh, about three thirty. So I'd guess he left the school about a half hour ago." 

Jack nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, that's not too bad. I'll go out and scout around for him, just in case, but I bet he's fine. I'll let you know if I find him." 

Mrs. Weaver smiled, relieved. "That would be wonderful. Thank you, Mr. O'Neill." 

* * *

Daniel stopped running when he got to the Museum of Art. He stood for a long time just staring up at it, tracing the marble blocks with his eyes. He remembered the first time he'd seen the museum. He'd been so surprised to find Greek architecture in America that he'd spent the next week expecting to find pyramids lurking around street corners. 

Daniel took the steps one at time, coming to a halt about halfway up. He couldn't go any further. He could hear the echoes of his parents voices in his ears, telling him to go outside, they'd be along in a minute, it's swinging, that's okay, just a little lower on your left, Jake... and then the snap of the chain, and the screams, and the sounds of those heavy stone blocks hitting the ground. Time had done strange things to Daniel that day. The accident itself had seemed to take years, each individual instant of it slamming into his brain, implanting itself in his memory. He doubted he'd ever be able to forget even a split second of it as long as he lived. The rest of the day had gone by in huge leaps. Hours took seconds, and then for no reason at all a single minute would take an eon. 

Most of the day was fuzzy in his memory. He could remember little snippets of time with perfect clarity; sitting outside somebody's office rubbing the hem of his sweater through his fingers again and again, mesmerized by the feel of the wool. Lying in his bed in the orphanage that night when the realization that he was really truly alone now finally hit him. Seeing the bodies of his parents pulled out of the rubble and thinking with a sort of detached affrontery that they didn't look at all like mummies. 

Daniel stopped and sat down hard, jarring his spine against the cold granite of the steps. He wrapped his arms around his torso and leaned forward, resting his chin on his knees. He was kind of cold. He'd left his jacket behind when he ran from the school. 

Daniel stared out across the traffic below, feeling the weight of the past at his back and the emptiness of the future yawning beneath his feet. He felt like he could sit there forever, a small figure in limbo between the past and the present; afraid to go back, afraid to go forward, and afraid to stay. 

* * *

Jack started at the apartment and moved towards the school, keeping his eye out for Daniel's red jacket since he figured it would probably be the easiest thing to spot. He went on foot, unsure of how fast or for how long Daniel could run but confident it wouldn't be too far. 

The route from the apartment to the school took him only a few minutes, and was distressingly devoid of fair-haired boys with glasses and red jackets. Somewhat at a loss, Jack stood for a few minutes outside the building before heading in the direction of Central Park. Daniel had liked going there to watch the skaters with Sara, and Jack hoped he'd instinctively head for somewhere familiar. After Central Park he could check the library and the museums. 

The skating rink was a bust. It was starting to get dark now and Jack was definitely getting worried. He stopped at a phone booth to call Sara at the restaurant and let her know what was going on, then headed for the Museum of Art. 

Despite Jack's growing panic, he really, really hoped he didn't find Daniel there. The Museum of Art would forever be associated with the death of Daniel's parents for Jack, and he would bet his last hockey puck it was the same for Daniel. If Daniel was returning there it meant whatever had happened at the school was upsetting enough he didn't feel he could go to Jack or Sara for help. The kind of comfort Daniel needed could only come from two living parents and a lot of Egyptian sand, which as much as he might want to, Jack just couldn't give him. 

He walked faster. 

When he got there, he almost didn't see Daniel sitting on the steps. The gathering dusk, Daniel's small size, and the absence of the red jacket Jack had been specifically looking for combined to help Daniel blend into the surrounding stonework with disquieting ease. If Jack hadn't been used to finding Daniel through all the noise and bustle of the world he might have missed him entirely. 

He sat down next to Daniel, moving slowly. 

"Hi," he said. Daniel continued staring out across the busy street. 

"They were so happy," Daniel said softly. "It was such an honor. They were so happy to be asked to make an exhibit at the New York Museum of Art." He pronounced the name slowly, tasting each letter as it came out. "They spent weeks telling me about everything in the museum, everything in New York, all the American stuff I'd get to see for the first time. 'You'll love it,' they said. 'There's so much to see.' And I did. We went to the movies, and we had ice cream and hamburgers. We went to Ellis Island and climbed to the top of the Statue of Liberty. It was like being in some sort of fairy land, I could hardly believe it was all real. It was so different." 

"You'd never been to America?" Jack asked. 

Daniel shook his head, still staring out at the traffic. "No. I was born on one of my parents' digs. My dad always used to joke that I was a born archaeologist, and my mom always told him no, I'd come for the languages. It was a standard joke, that dad wanted me to be an archaeologist and mom wanted me to be a linguist. I always told them I wanted to be a camel trader. It used to make them laugh." He smiled a little, turning to look at Jack for the first time. "It was so weird, Jack. There was no sand, tons of trees. Everybody spoke the same language." He gave Jack a wry look. "And you couldn't see as many stars. It was like we'd gone to another planet." 

Jack smiled back. "Planet New York. I like it." 

Daniel turned back to the traffic. "Of course, Mom and Dad were working a lot, putting the exhibit together, but I didn't mind. I just went through the exhibits in the museum, read all the little cards under the cases, made pictures of the most interesting ones in my notebook." He grinned. "I think I made the museum people nervous, actually. When I wasn't exploring I sat in Mom and Dad's exhibit room and watched them work. I was a little homesick for Egypt, but that was okay, because we were going back." 

He tucked his hands up under his arms, shivering a little, so Jack took off his sweatshirt and made Daniel put it on. The sleeves hung down past Daniel's hands, but he refused to let Jack roll them up. 

"The biggest part of the exhibit, the part everyone was most excited about, was a stone temple that we'd taken apart in Egypt and shipped to the States. We were rebuilding it right there in the museum, in the middle of the other exhibits. I wasn't supposed to get too close, because they didn't want me to trip someone up and cause an accident. Most of the people there had worked with Mom and Dad before, and knew to look out for me, but accidents happen." He sighed. "Accidents always happen." 

He was quiet for a few minutes, but Jack didn't want to say anything. The air around them felt fragile and solid, hard to breathe but easy to break. He was afraid to move, and was relieved when Daniel went on. 

"I was standing by one of the other exhibits. It was a recreation of a bust of Nefertiti. Quite beautiful, even if it wasn't the real thing. I loved to look at it because even this long after it had been made, the colors are still bright. I used to imagine the person who made it: what they looked like, what they thought of while they were making it. It was fun." He tucked his hands into the sleeves of Jack's sweatshirt, right hand in the left sleeve and left hand in the right sleeve until he looked like he didn't have any hands at all, just one continual arm running in a loop from shoulder to shoulder. 

"They were putting the roof on the temple. It was a tricky thing to do, so I was being extra quiet because I didn't want to be noticed and sent out. Mom and Dad were standing in the temple itself, so they could make sure the coverstone fit right on the walls and the pillars. I can still remember exactly what they looked like. Mom was wearing a blue bandanna over her hair because Dad said it made her eyes stand out, and Dad was wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt because Mom said he wouldn't. Dad was standing a little behind Mom, looking over her shoulder at the plans for the temple. Mom was nervous, because the coverstone was swinging a little, but Dad told her it would be okay. I mean, it was all chained up, right? If it landed off-center, all they had to do was pick it up again." 

Daniel pushed his hands further up his sleeves until he could grab his shoulders, a perverted version of his usual self-hug that made the sleeves bunch up strangely. "And the next thing I knew, the chain had snapped and the coverstone was falling. It fell to one side more than the other and hit one of the temple walls, so Mom had time to scream and Dad had time to try and push her out of the way. And then the wall fell, and the pillars fell, and the coverstone fell. Like dominoes. One on the other on the other and then on my parents." 

He turned and gave Jack a serious look. "Big stones, Jack. Heavy. There was no way. I knew that as soon as they fell. I'd seen accidents on digs before - nothing that bad, but I had a good idea of what that kind of weight does to a body. I stayed anyway, out of the way, just watching, because I knew if anyone could survive something like that it would be them. They always made it. It didn't seem right that they wouldn't make it this time." He smiled, a little bitter smile. "Not in America. America was a fairy land." 

"You saw them taken out," Jack said. It wasn't a question. He knew. 

Daniel looked down, taking his hands out of his sleeves and wrapping them around his chest. "Yeah." 

Jack reached over and pulled Daniel into his lap, wrapping his arms around Daniel's small body as if both of their arms together could keep all the bad things out. "I'm sorry, Danny." 

Daniel leaned his head against Jack's shoulder. "Me too." 

Jack kissed the top of Daniel's head. "You want to tell me what happened at school today?" 

Daniel sighed again, unsurprised by the change in conversation. "It was stupid. I panicked." 

"That why you left?" 

"Yeah. I was supposed to write some lines on the board, you know, 'I will do my homework'? That sort of thing. So I was standing there and I guess I spaced out a little, because Mrs. Kirkbright handed me a piece of paper with the words on it and told me just to write out what I saw. And I realized she didn't even think I knew how to read." 

"What did you do?" 

"I wrote it out a few times like she had - I mean exactly. I copied her writing and everything. And then Tommy Simpson - you remember Tommy Simpson?" 

"The moron with the Coliseum Dodgeball obsession?" 

Daniel gave a tiny huff of laughter. "Yeah. He started calling me a re-tard. I got so angry. I knew he had no reason to think anything else of me, but all of a sudden I was just furious. So I started copying the lines out in other languages. I made it all the way through and then realized everyone was staring at me. American kids don't know that kind of stuff, do they?" 

Jack gave Daniel a reassuring squeeze. "Not many kids do, American or otherwise." 

Daniel gave a minute shrug. "I didn't know." 

"Is that when you left?" 

"No. Mrs. Kirkbright said she was taking me to the principal's office. I thought I was in trouble and I couldn't figure out why. I thought I must have broken some sort of rule, and they were going to punish me... and, well, one thing led to another and I kind of freaked myself out. Silly." 

Jack shifted a little so he could see Daniel's face. "What did you think they were going to do?" 

Daniel gave him an embarrassed grimace of a smile. "Cut my hands off." 

Jack's jaw dropped. "Yeah, that would be scary. You do know that's not what they were going to do though, right?" 

"Of course," Daniel answered a little too quickly. "Um, what were they going to do, do you know?" 

Jack shrugged. "Probably just see how much you knew, figure out why you were in that class in the first place, decide where else to put you instead. That sort of thing." 

"I don't want to go back, Jack." 

Jack thought for a minute. "If you could have anything in the world, no matter how unreasonable, what would it be?" 

Daniel twisted to look up at him, puzzled. "No matter how unreasonable?" Jack nodded. "I want my parents back. And I want to go home." 

"To Egypt?" 

"Yeah." 

"What do you need to get there?" 

Daniel blinked at him, still confused. "Money. And a plane ticket." 

"How are you going to get it?" 

"The money? I don't know. If I knew I'd leave now," Daniel pointed out a little testily. 

Jack refused to be daunted. "How did your parents get it?" 

"They got funding for a dig." 

"So they were hired to be archaeologists?" 

"Yeah, I guess you could put it that way." 

"How do you get to be an archaeologist?" 

Daniel frowned, finally understanding what Jack was getting at. "You go to school." 

"Yes. And you do your homework, and pay attention, and Daniel... you have to talk." 

Daniel sighed, caught partway between admitting Jack was right and feeling resentment at having been tricked into admitting Jack was right. "I know. It's just because I don't understand how to act yet, Jack. I'll figure it out." 

"That's an excuse and you know it." Jack's arms tightened around him. "Daniel, you're one of the bravest people I know. I don't think I would have made it this far on my own if I were in your place, that's for damn sure. But if you want to be an archaeologist and a linguist and go back to Egypt, you're going to have to work hard for it." 

Daniel tucked his head under Jack's chin. "I miss being a kid, Jack." 

Jack rubbed his shoulder with one hand. "I know." 

"You're going to make a good dad someday." 

Jack smiled and kissed the top of Daniel's head again. "Thanks." 

"Do you think they'll still be at school if we go back now?" 

"You sure?" 

"No. But I don't suppose it really matters." 

Jack checked his watch. "They might be." 

Daniel got to his feet. "Let's go then." 

* * *

"So we walked back to the school," Jack told Sara. "The principal was still there. I walked Daniel to the door and he just looked at me and said 'I'm okay, Jack,' and walked in by himself. I sat out in the hallway the whole time." 

Sara put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "He knew you were there for him, Jack. That's the important thing." 

"I know." Jack picked at a spot on the table. "I just... you shouldn't be that old when you're nine, Sara. Nine year old boys should be outside playing. They should believe in Superman and Santa Claus and they shouldn't have to know their parents aren't immortal." 

Sara folded her hands in front of her. "He's not a normal kid. We knew that from the beginning," she said, knowing that it wouldn't help. 

"I still feel like I'm killing his childhood," Jack said roughly, and got up from the table. 

* * *

Daniel stopped at the entrance to the living room and stood for a moment, just watching Mrs. Weaver. She was sitting in her armchair, staring blankly at the powerless television. The dim light filtering in through the living room window did little to alleviate the feeling of dull loneliness that seemed to have seeped into the very walls. 

"Mrs. Weaver?" 

She jumped, startled more by the presence of another person in such close proximity than by the shattering of Daniel's customary silence. 

"Oh, my, you startled me!" She pasted on a smile. "What's on your mind, dear?" 

Daniel licked his lips. "I want to show you something." 

She shifted in the chair until she was facing him fully, her smile becoming a little more real. "Sure, sweetheart. What is it?" 

Daniel fidgeted. "It's...outside. We have to... have to go somewhere. It'll be fun," he added hastily, taking a nervous step into the room. "Really. I think you'll like it. I mean, I hope you'll like it." 

"I'd love to, honey." She stood up, smoothing the front of her dress self-consciously. "How do I look? Is this okay? Should I change?" 

Daniel smiled. "You look great. That's perfect." 

She gave him a relieved smile. "Let's go, then." 

* * *

"The Museum of Art?" Mrs. Weaver asked, turning to him with a smile. "I didn't know you liked museums." 

"It has the largest Egyptian collection in the country," Daniel told her solemnly. "Want to see it?" 

"I'd love to," Mrs. Weaver said, and he tucked his hand through her elbow and led her into the museum. 

* * *

The yo-yo spun at the bottom of the string as Daniel walked the dog. He hooked the string with one finger, doubled it, and hooked it again. If he'd gotten it right, it would make the yo-yo into a pendulum in a clock-like box... 

Before he could finish his trick, the yo-yo snapped back on its string and hit his fingers. Daniel dropped it with a yelp. 

So close. He'd been so close... oh well. He picked up the yo-yo and got ready to try again. 

A knock at his bedroom door interrupted his concentration. Before he could answer, the door eased open and Mrs. Weaver's face appeared in the crack. 

"Daniel? Miss Elliot's here to see you." She smiled and retreated, leaving Miss Elliot standing in the hallway smiling benignly down at him. 

"Hello, Daniel. Are you all packed?" 

Daniel gaped at her. "Packed? No, no, why would I pack?" 

Miss Elliot's smile faltered and she looked uncertain. "Because you're moving? To a new home?" 

A cold feeling lodged in Daniel's stomach. "But I'm not leaving. Nobody told me I had to leave." 

Miss Elliot's expression firmed. "Don't be silly, the child is always notified. Now get your things and we'll be going." 

With quick movements Daniel wrapped the string around his yo-yo and tucked it into his pocket. "I have some things to take care of first," he said firmly. "Excuse me, please." He pushed his way past her and down the hall to the kitchen. He picked up Mrs. Weaver's heavy white phone and dialed zero like they did on the movies. He was aware of Mrs. Weaver and Miss Elliot watching him and conversing quietly behind his back, but he didn't care. 

"I'd like the number for Dottie's Restaurant, please," he said, and waited as the operator connected him. "Hello, Dottie? It's Daniel. I need to speak to Sara, please. Thanks." There was a pause and he could hear the sounds of the restaurant in the background, then Sara's voice on the phone. 

"Daniel? Are you all right?" 

"No," Daniel told her honestly. "They're making me leave." He gripped the phone cord in his left hand as if it were a rope holding him to the face of a cliff. 

"What?" Sara's voice was shocked. "Move like to a new foster home? Now?" 

"Yeah." 

"Aren't you supposed to have some kind of warning?" 

"I don't know. I guess." Daniel swallowed hard. "I... I wanted to say goodbye, Sara. Do you... do you know Jack's number? I don't know where he works." 

"I'll call him," Sara said, her voice regaining some of it's customary briskness. "You stall them. We'll be there as soon as we can." 

"Okay," Daniel said, and hung up. 

* * *

Sara hung up and dialed again quickly. 

"Hello? I need to speak to Lieutenant Jack O'Neill. Tell him it's a family emergency." 

* * *

"Daniel, are you ready yet?" Miss Elliot's voice had lost a lot of its sweetness. She was most definitely starting to get a little fed up with Daniel's packing tactics. 

"No," Daniel said defiantly from the middle of a sudden explosion of belongings in his room. "I can't find my jacket. It's red with blue patches on the elbows. I can't leave without it." The jacket was, in fact, stuffed under Daniel's mattress, and if more of his possessions seemed to end up in piles around his room than folded neatly in his suitcase, well, that wasn't Daniel's fault. He was only a kid, after all. What did he know about packing? 

"All right," Miss Elliot said with a sigh. "I'll look for it out here." 

Daniel felt a slight twinge of guilt. Miss Elliot was a pretty nice lady, if a little clueless sometimes. She seemed out of her depth, and Daniel felt bad about adding to her confusion. Not bad enough to leave quietly without seeing Jack and Sara, of course, but bad enough to be sympathetic. 

There was a firm knock at the apartment door. "Daniel?" Jack's voice called. "You still here?" 

"Jack!" Daniel jumped to his feet and bolted for the door, dodging a surprised Mrs. Weaver in the hallway. He jerked open the door and launched himself at Jack. 

"You got here," he gasped into the shoulder of Jack's uniform. "Thank you for coming I didn't want to leave first I don't want to go anywhere /please/ don't make me go..." 

"I know." Jack rubbed his back soothingly. "It's okay. Sara's right behind me. Is your social worker still here?" 

Daniel held on harder. "Miss Elliot," he said, his voice muffled. "She's inside." 

"Okay." Jack's arms loosened for a moment, then he seemed to change his mind. "Why don't we stay out here and wait for Sara, huh kiddo?" 

"Okay." 

Jack eased around until he was leaning against the banister, Daniel in his arms with his face buried in Jack's neck. "Daniel, did you know you had to leave today?" 

"No. I think maybe Mrs. Weaver forgot to tell me. She forgets things sometimes." 

"Do you know where they're sending you?" 

"No," Daniel said, a little sharply. "I didn't ask." 

"Okay." Jack turned a little at the sound of Sara pounding up the stairs. "Hey, look who else is here." 

Daniel lifted his head from Jack's shoulder and peered at Sara. "Hi, Sara." 

Sara smiled and stroked his back. "Hey, kiddo. How you holding up?" 

Daniel released his stranglehold of Jack and twisted to look at her. "Okay, I guess." 

Jack caught her eye over Daniel's head and jerked his chin in the direction of the apartment. "Hey, Daniel, you want to hang out with Sara for a minute? I'm going to go talk to Miss Elliot." 

"Okay." Daniel let go and dropped to the ground, standing as close to Sara as he could get. Sara crouched down next to him and put an arm around his shoulders as he leaned into her, smoothing his hair with her free hand. 

Jack found Miss Elliot in Daniel's bedroom, shutting the clasps on a battered blue suitcase. 

"Are you Daniel's case worker?" 

She turned and smiled brightly at him. "Yes, I am." She offered him her hand. "Julie Elliot." 

Jack gave her a curt nod. "Lieutenant Jack O'Neill. I'm a friend of Daniel's." 

Miss Elliot let her hand drop, still smiling determinedly. "Nice to meet you, Mr. O'Neill." 

"Lieutenant," Jack corrected her. "Why wasn't Daniel told he would have to leave today?" 

The smile died. Miss Elliot gave Jack a dismayed look. "I don't know. His family should have been notified." 

Jack crossed his arms and stared at her. She fidgeted nervously. "I'll get right to the point. I want to take Daniel in." 

Strike dismayed; Miss Elliot looked terrified. "Take... take him in?" she faltered. 

"Yes. I'm married, I have a stable job, my wife and I are already friends of Daniel's and we want to take him in." 

"Oh," Miss Elliot said faintly. "I... what do you do for a living?" 

Jack gazed back at her steadily. "I work for the Air Force. Hence the Lieutenant and the uniform." 

"Oh!" Miss Elliot's expression cleared and she smiled at him again, relieved. "Well, I'm afraid that won't do. If you have to travel for your job you aren't really a suitable foster parent. Now, if you'll excuse me - " 

Jack raised one eyebrow. "Sort of like Mr. Weaver travels?" 

The smile died again. "That's not really the same thing, Mr. - Lieutenant. You have a high risk job." 

"How do you know? Maybe I work in the commissary." 

Miss Elliot frowned, angry now. "How long have you been married?" 

"A little over a year." 

"That isn't long enough to demonstrate that you can provide a stable environment for a child. Now excuse me, we have to be leaving." She pushed past him into the hallway. 

"Wait just a minute!" Jack called after her, but she had already opened the front door of the apartment and set Daniel's suitcase outside with depressing finality. 

Jack made it down the hallway in three giant steps and grabbed her by the arm, hauling her back inside the apartment. "Do you have any idea what that kid has had to deal with?" He hissed. "He saw his parents killed right in front of him, for Christ's sake. He grew up in /Egypt/. He has no idea what to do in this country. He spent the last year completely /silent/ because he was afraid he would offend somebody. And not to brag or anything, but he trusts me and he trusts my wife and we have given him more stability than he has ever had in his life. I repeat: we want to take him in." 

Miss Elliot glared back, jerking her arm out of his hold. "Bring your complaint to the office," she snapped. "I'm not the one you should be talking to." She vanished out into the hallway. 

Jack gaped momentarily at the empty space left by her departure, then turned and followed her out. 

Daniel looked up at them from where he stood with Sara. His eyes flicked from Miss Elliot's wrinkled sleeve to Jack's angry expression and his face fell. For a moment he closed his eyes, still leaning against Sara, and then he opened them and straightened up. 

"I need to say goodbye to Mrs. Weaver," he said calmly, and marched into the apartment. 

The hallway was thick with tense silence. Miss Elliot stood stiffly with her back to the wall, staring resolutely straight ahead. Jack crossed his arms and looked daggers at her. 

"Did you ask - " Sara began. 

"Yes." 

"And she said - " 

"No." 

Sara gave Miss Elliot a hostile look. 

Daniel came back out into the hallway, jacket tucked under one arm, and came to an uncertain halt as he took in the atmosphere on the landing. He cleared his throat timidly. 

"Say goodbye, Daniel," Miss Elliot said flatly. "We need to be going." 

"Right," Daniel said, his eyes a little wide. He shook himself and headed for Sara first, coming to a faltering stop in front of her. He shifted his jacket from one hand to the other, not quite able to look her in the face, but before the moment could get too awkward Sara bent down and grabbed him in a fierce bearhug. 

"Call us and let us know where you are, okay?" 

Crushed against her, Daniel could only nod. After a moment Sara let go and leaned back, staring into his face. He was pale and his eyes were red but his chin was set determinedly. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. 

"You're so brave, Daniel," she told him softly, giving him a tremulous smile. 

Daniel kissed her on the cheek, and if his face was a little tear-stained when he leaned back, neither one said anything. 

Jack didn't wait for Daniel to turn and face him. He swooped down and gathered the boy up, cradling him close. He could feel Daniel trembling faintly, and his fingers clutched hard at Jack's shirt. Jack closed his eyes, memorizing the feel of Daniel's small body against his, Daniel's hair tickling his nose, and then he put Daniel down. 

"We'll be here," he said, and ran out of things to say. 

Daniel took one step back, and then another, and stood clutching the banister pole at the top of the stairway. 

"The Milky Way," he blurted hoarsely. "In lots of stories it's created to keep people apart, like a river, or... or..." his voice broke and he swallowed hard. 

Jack nodded. "Watch the stars?" 

"Yeah," Daniel whispered, looking down, and then he turned and was gone. 

Miss Elliot picked up Daniel's suitcase and followed. 

"This isn't over," Jack told her. She ignored him. 

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, there were two things I learned from writing this story, all the way back in 2003 when I was but a wee young baby writer: one, it is both gratifying and terrifying to have a fic go Fandom Famous, and two: do not end a fic with the line "This isn't over" if you do not, in fact, intend to write a second part.
> 
> I did actually plot out a sequel eventually, but the inspiration never quite struck for it and I drifted out of the fandom not long afterwards, so it never got written. I shared my notes at one point with another author who wanted to take a stab at it, but as far as I know it never went anywhere.
> 
> Ah, hindsight... everything looks so clear in it, right?? :D


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